


Lovers In A Dangerous Time

by queenofkadara



Series: Underneath It All: Fenris & Rynne Hawke [10]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death: someone gets left in the Fade, F/M, Inquisitor Fenris (Dragon Age), NOBODY EXPECTS THE FENRIS INQUISITION, Okay fine this isn't an original idea but I'm doing it anyway, Smut, Suspense, a LOT of party banter and conversations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 332,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Hawke gingerly stroked Fenris’s green and glowing palm, then looked up at him with wide eyes. “Well, I guess that’s the end of our years in hiding, isn’t it?”Fenris surreptitiously looked around.Everyonein Haven was staring at them, from the quartermaster to the soldiers and the refugees and the Chantry sisters.He hunched his shoulders defensively. “So it seems,” he grunted. He didn’t like being stared at, and he never had. But with this blasted magical mark on his hand, it didn’t seem that he had much choice in the matter.Little did Fenris realize that being stared at was going to be the least of his problems.**************IN A NUTSHELL: Fenris is the Inquisitor, and is not very pleased about it. Rynne Hawke, on the other hand, loves making new friends.This fic is a sequel to my canon Fenhawke romance, which you can readin the rest of this series,particularlyA Tantrum and a Know-It-All Grin.It is planned to cover the entire game, including Trespasser.





	1. Promise Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of NSFW smut.

_Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by_  
_We never get to stop and open our eyes_  
_One minute you're waiting for the sky to fall_  
_The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all_

_Lovers in a dangerous time_

_These fragile bodies of touch and taste_  
_This fragrant skin, this hair like lace_  
_Spirits open to the thrust of grace_  
_Never a breath you can afford to waste_

_Lovers in a dangerous time_

_When you're lovers in a dangerous time_  
_Sometimes you're made to feel as if your love's a crime_  
_Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight_  
_Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight_

_Lovers in a dangerous time_

\- ["Lovers In A Dangerous Time" by Bruce Cockburn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IX4gWkFqvU)  
***********************

Fenris padded silently through the woods. The air was fresh and cool with rain, and it was something of a relief; it had been an unusually dry spring on the island of Alamar, and the dampness of the leaves and grass beneath his bare feet was refreshing.

He slowed as he approached a dilapidated cabin tucked into a small clearing. He removed his gloves, then pressed one lyrium-lined palm to the door. 

He waited until he heard the soft _snick_ of the magical lock, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. His gaze darted around the small cabin until he found her seated on the threadbare carpet in front of the fire, with her mabari sleeping at her side. 

His shoulders loosened slightly, and he pushed back his hood. “There was no more of that sweetened bread you like,” he said. “But I fetched the post.” 

Hawke looked up from the scarlet kerchief and needle in her hands. “Damn,” she said. “Well, that’s all right. I can go next week.”

Fenris shook his head as he hung his damp cloak by the fireplace. “No need. I will go.” 

Hawke raised one eyebrow at him as she continued her embroidery. “You know I’m perfectly capable of going to town to run errands, right?” 

“I did not say you weren’t.” Fenris placed the letters on the small table, then settled himself beside her on the carpet. 

She smiled at him, then shifted close and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go together, then,” she murmured. “I want some of Gregor’s orange ice cream.”

Fenris pursed his lips. “It’s too cold for ice cream.” 

Hawke laughed and bumped him with her shoulder. “What kind of fool are you? It’s never too cold for ice cream.” She finished another delicate stitch on the kerchief. 

Fenris nibbled the inside of his cheek. He had a suspicion about the owner of the confectionery in Amaranthine, but he knew Hawke wasn’t going to like it. 

Finally he sighed. “Hawke… I’m fairly certain Gregor knows who you are.”

She frowned. “How could he? I’m pretty sure the last time I used magic was when I enchanted the front door.” 

“I know,” he said gently. “But… I believe he knows. He made a remark that concerns me.” Gregor had been as friendly as usual when Fenris had passed by the confectionery this afternoon, but he’d made a comment about “you and the missus come ‘ere from Kirkwall” when Fenris knew for a fact that they hadn’t told anyone they’d lived in Kirkwall three years ago.

Hawke’s frown deepened further. Then she shrugged dismissively. “Well, if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He hasn’t called any Templars in the seven months we’ve been living here.” 

“He doesn’t know where we live,” Fenris reasoned. “And we go into town so irregularly, he wouldn’t know when -”

“Fenris.” She reached up and stroked his chin with her thumb. “Everyone isn’t a threat. They can’t be, or else we’d both be dead.” She dropped her hand and her gaze back to the kerchief in her lap. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry so much.” 

He gazed at her with an uncomfortable mix of irritation and affection. She made it sound so easy, as though he could just shut off the constant low-level anxiety that hounded his heels as surely as the Chantry was still hounding hers. Besides, he knew Hawke wasn’t as calm as she always pretended to be. He wasn’t the only one who was always just a little bit… worried. 

It would be unkind to say so, however, and Fenris was loathe to pick a fight over something so seemingly innocuous as a maker of ice cream. He would just have to be extra cautious around Gregor, that was all. And he certainly wouldn’t be allowing Hawke to go to Amaranthine by herself next week. 

He watched for a while as she continued her careful stitching. “Would you like me to read the post to you?” he asked. 

Her frown instantly cleared, and she grinned at him. “Ooh, yes. You know I could listen to that voice of yours all day.” 

He smirked at her lascivious tone, then rose to his feet and fetched the letters, all of which were simply addressed to ‘Leto’. He ripped open the first one as he sat beside her on the carpet. “All right. This first one is from Isabela.”

Hawke perked up. “That saucy bitch. Let’s hear it. I hope she’s been doing exciting things without us.” 

Fenris hummed an acknowledgement, then read the letter to her. It seemed that Isabela had contracted a particularly _interesting_ disease during her raids on the Rialto Bay, and that she would have liked their ‘most purr-fect friend’s particular healing skills’. 

Hawke cackled at this. “Nasty tart,” she said fondly. “I bet she spread that disease to her crew as well. I’m glad I never got anything from her.” 

“As am I,” Fenris drawled as he opened the second letter. His eyebrows rose as he took in the signature. “This one is from Stroud.” 

“Oh. Shit,” Hawke said, her manner instantly shifting from sunny to serious. “When did we last hear from him? Ten months ago? Eleven?” 

“Over a year now,” Fenris said. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair. “Damn. All right. Um… all right, let’s hear it.” 

She was right to be concerned; the contents of the letter were ominous. When they’d last seen Stroud, he’d agreed to help Hawke and Varric learn more about red lyrium and its insidious properties, but the letter mentioned nothing of that. Instead, Stroud had written that he had to go to Weisshaupt immediately to speak with his commander, a mage named Clarel. The terse letter ended with a promise to contact Hawke again when he had further news to share. 

By the time Fenris had finished reading the letter, Hawke’s forehead was creased with worry. “Fuck. That does _not_ sound good,” she muttered. She silently worked a few more stitches into her kerchief before lifting her gaze to Fenris’s face. “He didn't mention red lyrium at all. What are Warden friends for if they can’t look into your business for you while you lounge in a cabin in the woods?”

Fenris gently squeezed her arm, but he wasn’t sure how to comfort her. The oddly brusque letter from Stroud followed an increasingly ominous trickle of news that was making its way to Fenris’s ears during their infrequent trips to Amaranthine: news about the civil war in Orlais, including an entire alienage being massacred in Halamshiral, as well as the ongoing strife between mages and Templars and some very disturbing rumours about the Templars splitting off from the Chantry altogether. At least things in Kirkwall had been relatively stable when they’d last heard from Aveline a few weeks ago. 

To that end, the final letter was one that would hopefully cheer Hawke up. Fenris began to tear it open. “This one is from Varric,” he told her. “Shall I…?” 

Hawke nodded. “Yes please. But first, I’m finally finished with this thing…” She trailed off as she snipped a loose thread from her embroidery, then rolled the kerchief into a narrow band and held out her hand expectantly. 

Fenris smiled and extended his right arm. With a few deft movements, Hawke tied the kerchief around his wrist. 

He rotated the kerchief and read the message she’d embroidered: _Rynne Hawke was here._

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That’s very romantic, Hawke. You have my thanks.” 

She snickered, then rolled back the edge of the scarf. “This part is for your eyes only.” 

He peered at the message she’d sewn into the underside of the scarf, which lay flush against his wrist.

 _I am yours, forever and a day. - RH xoxo_

He looked up and met her warm amber eyes. “You stole the words from my mouth,” he murmured.

She grinned slowly at him and slid closer until she was sitting in his lap. “Well, you stole my heart with your bloody warrior’s hands,” she retorted. “Fair’s fair.” 

He grinned back at her and stroked her cheek. “I suppose you are correct,” he whispered, and he kissed her raspberry-red lips. 

She slid her arms around his neck as they kissed, and Fenris relaxed into the fleeting sweetness of the moment. The crackling of the fire and Toby’s snuffling snores were familiar and soothing sounds, and with his eyes blissfully closed, he could almost imagine that they were back in Hawke’s mansion in Kirkwall. 

She gently broke their kiss and nuzzled his cheek. “You’re a funny one,” she whispered.

“How so?” he asked.

She stroked the kerchief on his wrist. “This whole scarf thing,” she said. “Always wanting a new one when the old one gets frayed.”

He huffed softly. “You have your ring, I have my scarves.” He rubbed the ruby-and-onyx ring that adorned her left hand.

“That’s true,” she breathed. Then she kissed him again. 

A few minutes later, she breathed a happy little sigh against his cheek. “Are you ready to read me that letter from my favourite dwarf?” 

He nodded, and Hawke shifted in his lap so he could tear the letter open and read it out loud. 

His stomach instantly dropped at Varric’s first line. 

> _Leto,_
> 
> _Bad news. That Seeker woman, Cassandra Pentaghast, came back to Kirkwall. She’s asking questions again; maybe she just likes hearing my charming voice. Also said something about the Templars leaving the Chantry and ‘peace talks’ between the mages and the Templars. She wants me to talk to Divine Justinia, if you can believe it. So it looks like I’m going on a little cross-country trip to the Frostback Mountains, and you know how much I love trips to the mountains._
> 
> _Shit is getting weird. Stay where you are and keep your heads down. I’ll be fine. I’ve talked myself out of worse scrapes than this._
> 
> _\- V. T._
> 
> _P.S. You think the Divine is a fan? Maybe a signed copy of ‘Swords and Shields’ will butter her up._

Hawke’s fingers were biting into Fenris’s arm by the time he finished reading the letter. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she said. Her eyes were huge when they found his face. “He’s being taken to talk to the Divine? What does that mean? Is he under arrest? Is it because of the whole Chantry-blowing-up thing? But they can’t arrest him, the only stupid things he ever did were because I made him do them!” She pushed herself to her feet and began pacing around the cabin. 

Toby sat up, awakened and alarmed by her sudden movement, and Fenris rose to his feet as Hawke continued to pace. “What do Seekers even do, anyway?” she demanded. “They’re worse than the Templars, right? They come around when the Templars haven’t been strict enough. That’s why they went to talk to Varric the first time. So that’s… that’s bad, right? That can only mean something bad.” 

Fenris took Hawke’s hands and pulled her to a stop. “Hawke -”

“We have to go help him,” she interrupted. “He - Varric’s only - he was a bystander,” she said. “All of you were just bystanders. You didn’t do anything. It was all me. Anders wouldn’t have - I should have known he would blow up the Chantry, I could have stopped him. And Varric -”

“Hawke, stop,” Fenris said sharply. “We have been over this countless times. Anders’s stupidity was not your fault.” 

“But Varric being there _was_ my fault,” she insisted. “He only ever got into trouble because of me.” She pulled one hand from his grip and scratched absently at her left-side ribs. “They can’t arrest him. I won’t let them.” 

Fenris gently pulled her hand away from her side. Now was probably not the time to remind her how many times their erstwhile band of misfits - including Fenris himself - had dragged her into trouble. “Varric said to stay hidden,” he said. “He has always wanted you to stay hidden and safe.”

“Oh, fuck that,” she exclaimed. “Varric has spent years lying for me. I’m not going to let him get thrown into Chantry jail as well.” She pulled her hand away from him walked over to the bed. “What is Chantry jail even like? I bet they force you to pray all the time. Maybe they make you lick the feet of all the Andraste statues.” She crouched beside the bed and reached under it.

Fenris fell to his knees and grabbed her wrist before she could lift the loose floorboard and pull out her staff. “Don’t,” he said sharply. “We can’t just go chasing after him. It’s not safe.” 

“Fenris, nowhere is safe,” Hawke said. “We’ve been hiding like rats for years. We might as well go and save Varric for all the good this hiding has been worth.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You just told me five minutes ago to stop worrying because everything is fine. Is that not what you said?”

She wrested her wrist from his grip. “That was before I knew Varric needed help!” she yelled. 

Fenris sat back on his heels and silently eyed her angry face. After a few tense heartbeats, her expression softened, and she shuffled closer to him and squeezed his thigh. “Fenris, please. We have to go find Varric. What if something happens to him while we just sit here on our asses twiddling our thumbs? We can’t wait for news. I can’t.” 

She was scratching again at her left-side ribs. Fenris pried her fingers away from her side once more. “Hawke,” he said quietly, “Varric and I spoke about this. He knew this might happen. He doesn’t want you getting involved -” 

“You spoke about this?” she said sharply. “What do you mean?”

Fenris sighed. She wasn’t going to like this. “The first time that Seeker went to talk to him, Varric thought it was odd when she left him in Kirkwall with no repercussions. He suspected she might come back someday. We agreed that it would be best if-”

“ _You_ agreed?” Hawke said. She leaned away from him and folded her arms. “Since when do _you_ decide what’s best for me? Who am I, my mother sitting in the mansion while I run around doing all her bloody-” 

“No,” Fenris interrupted. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” His temper was starting to rise along with her voice, and he had to fight to keep his tone calm as he spoke. “You have a difficult time sitting out. And… you are impulsive. You act without thinking. But the risks in this case are too great.”

“This isn’t me wanting to do some clever prank involving cats and pants, Fenris,” she snapped. She pushed herself to her feet and glared down at him. “This could be Varric’s life on the line!”

“You don’t know that,” Fenris retorted as he rose to his feet.

“Neither do you!” she yelled. “What if those Seekers torture him for information or something? You don’t know what they’re capable of! This Cassandra Pentaghast person sounds like a real piece of work from what Varric’s letters said. I think the risks to him are greater than the risks to us.”

“And how would you know?” Fenris demanded. 

Hawke slumped in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

Fenris folded his arms. “How would you know what the risks are? You have been pulling the wool over your own eyes for years. You act as though every person we dare to talk to isn’t a possible bounty hunter for the Chantry. That every night we spend in the same place doesn’t pose a risk of discovery. It is a farce, Hawke,” he shouted. “You cannot fathom the number of times I have guided us away from prying eyes that would sell you out for the pleasure of seeing the mage-loving Champion of Kirkwall burned!” 

The tiny cabin was ringing with the echoes of his voice. He breathed hard through his nose as he took in her expression.

Her face was pale, and her eyes were huge and hurt. “You’re just being paranoid,” she said quietly. 

She sounded uncertain. Fenris’s frustration was instantly softened by a wash of guilt. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Hawke…”

She shook her head and backed away from him, then walked over to the fireplace and lifted his cloak from its hook. 

He frowned as she donned the cloak. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” she said. “For a walk in the woods. I can do that much on my own, can’t I?” Without waiting for a response, she pulled up the hood, then walked out and slammed the door behind her. 

Fenris glared at the door, then sat on the carpet in front of the fire. “She’d better be back in five minutes,” he said threateningly to Toby. If she wasn’t, he would go out after her. 

Toby leaned against his side and whined softly, and Fenris scowled at the big mabari. “You know I am right,” he said haughtily. “She is incautious and rash. But this is a delicate situation. We cannot go plowing in like a bronto in a pottery shop.” 

Toby whimpered once more and licked his hand. Fenris twisted his lips in annoyance, then sighed. He understood Hawke’s concerns; he could see the danger Varric was in just as much as she could, and he was not immune to the fear for their friend’s wellbeing. But Varric’s letter was proof that Hawke was still being hunted, perhaps just as fiercely as when Anders had first demolished the Kirkwall Chantry. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. He had good reasons for wanting to keep Hawke out of danger, the most selfish of them being that he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her if the worst should come to pass. But the sight of her scratching her left side, the side where her tattoo twined and twisted from her ribs up to her shoulder blade and back, a constant reminder of every person she blamed herself for losing or unwittingly driving away… 

He sighed once more, then wrinkled his nose at Toby. “There is no need to look so smug,” he informed the hound. 

Toby wagged his tail and gave a tiny woof.

Fenris frowned for a moment longer, then pushed himself to his feet. But before he could reach for the door, the magical lock clicked.

Hawke pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her rain-dampened shoulders were hunched, and she looked very contrite. “Fenris, I’m sor-”

“We will go to help Varric,” Fenris said. 

She stopped mid-speech and gaped at him. Then Fenris stumbled back as she flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She buried her face in his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whimpered. “Thank you, thank you, Fenris, thank you-” 

He shook his head, even as he hugged her in return. “We must be careful,” he told her fiercely. “We can’t just run off right this instant. We must at least try to have a plan.”

“Of course we will! Plans are my specialty,” she quipped. 

He pulled away from her and cupped her face in his hands. “I am serious, Hawke. I can’t bear the thought of you being captured. I need you to promise me you’ll follow my lead.” 

Her smile faded slightly as she gazed back at him. “You’re… you’re serious about this. Am I really that bad?”

He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Please, Rynne. Just promise me.” 

She frowned, but finally she nodded her head. “All right, fine. Whatever you say.” Then her signature cheeky smirk lifted the corner of her lips. “If you’re being the boss, does that mean you’ll use your bossy voice with me? You know how much I love -”

“Shut up, Hawke,” he drawled. 

She laughed brightly, then hopped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. Moments later, they were on the bed, and Hawke was simultaneously fighting to remove her cloak while fumbling at the laces of Fenris’s trousers. 

He broke away from her ravenous kiss. “We need to plan this out,” he said severely. “It would be best if we avoid Amaranthine on our way to the Frostback Mountains. And we absolutely cannot pass through Lothering, you’ll be recognized -”

She slid her hand beneath his shirt and lightly stroked his nipple. “Whatever you want,” she breathed. “We can do whatever you want starting tomorrow. But for now, just give me this.”

Fenris bit his lip as her hand slid down his abdomen. He understood her motives all too well: she never needed an excuse for sex, especially not in the wake of an argument. But this was also her preferred method of wiping away her worries about what was to come, even if it was just a temporary reprieve.

But he shouldn’t indulge this right now, not if she wanted to get moving on short notice. They needed to plan their route, and they would need to pack for a long and difficult journey, and they would need to purge this place of any signs of their presence when they left - 

Hawke slipped her fingers into his trousers and stroked his cock, and Fenris fell back onto the mattress. “Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll do as you like. For now.” 

She grinned at his forbidding tone, then hauled his trousers down and took his cock into her mouth, and Fenris lifted his hips with a gasp of pleasure. If Hawke wanted to forget their troubles for a short but blissful hour, he supposed he could allow it.

Perhaps this would allow him to forget their troubles as well.

**************************

**One month later…**

“No.” 

“Hawke-”

“Fenris, _no_. I’m not staying here while you go off without me, it’ll take hours for you to scope out this stupid Conclave thing and come back!” 

“You cannot come,” Fenris declared. “They are searching for you. You cannot risk getting any closer to this lion’s den.” 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Fenris grabbed her arms. “You promised me, Hawke,” he hissed. “You said you would do as I asked. This is what I am asking of you: stay here, and stay hidden. I will return in two hours.”

“And what if you don’t?” she hissed in return. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Run,” Fenris said simply.

She stared at him for a second, then shoved him lightly in the chest. “You’re fucking joking. You must be. You think I would run away and leave you? I swear, Fenris, if something happens to you -”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her hard, cutting off her foolish words, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Please,” he begged. “Stay here. _Fasta vass,_ Hawke, if they caught you, I… They will drown in the rivers of blood I would spill to free you from their clutches. Do not make me do that.”

He could feel her clenching her jaw beneath his palms. Finally she blew out a small breath. “Fine,” she whispered. “Fine, I’ll stay here. But if you aren’t back in two hours, I am coming after you.” She pulled away and glared at him. “I refuse to live without you, either.” 

He shook his head and stroked her stubborn jawline. “You are an idiot, Hawke.”

She continued to glare at him, her fists twisted tight in his collar. “Only for you, Fenris,” she said seriously. “Only for you.” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, then kissed her once more and turned away. 

He hurried along the ridge of the snow-covered slope while donning his gloves and pulling up his hood. He tugged his scarf up to cover the scars on his chin, then slid silently down the tree-riddled slope toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes, thankful that Hawke’s magic would hide his tracks.

In his left hand he held one of Hawke’s old staves. He had been posing as a mage since they’d left Alamar, as Hawke was not known to associate with a male elven mage. Thus disguised, he was able to hide amongst the masses of real mages who were congregating in the Temple where this supposed Conclave was taking place. 

It appeared that most people were gathering in a large main room that resembled the Kirkwall Chantry’s main floor. But from the whispers Fenris could hear, they seemed agitated. 

“... don’t know what is taking so long. The Divine was supposed to appear twenty minutes ago.”

“Perhaps it’s some kind of show. They think we’ll reconcile with the bloody Templars if we remain in the same place for long enough, but good luck with that…” 

Fenris idly listened to the gossip as he looked around the room for Varric or for a woman bearing Seeker Pentaghast’s description. It was hard to tell, as people were coming and going and milling around restlessly in this grand room, but Fenris was fairly sure he didn’t see either of them here.

As surreptitiously as he could, he snuck out of the main area and toward a secluded set of stairs. He followed the stairs down, but as he began to make his way to the lower floor, he began to feel… something.

Apprehension darted through his chest. The feeling was a familiar one: a very faint but uncomfortable buzz beneath his skin. 

_Red lyrium,_ he thought. It had always been faintly annoying, but Fenris seemed to feel it more strongly since the fight with Knight-Commander Meredith three years ago. 

But what in the Void was red lyrium doing at the Conclave?

Maybe it was a possible clue as to Varric’s whereabouts. Varric had always wanted to know more about red lyrium, and Hawke as well on Varric’s behalf, so perhaps he’d been tasked with helping the Chantry to learn more about it. 

Fenris clung to this hopeful (albeit unlikely) idea as he continued to the base of the stairs, where he was met by double doors, and by the sound of pained cries emanating from behind them.

He frowned and tiptoed over to the closed doors; the wails of pain were in an elderly woman’s voice, but it was the second voice in the room that sent a spike of disbelief through Fenris’s chest. 

“Keep the sacrifice still.” 

“Venhedis,” Fenris breathed. It couldn’t be. But that evil, sonorous voice was unmistakable.

 _Corypheus._ But how was he alive? Hawke and the rest of them had killed the misbegotten magister almost three years ago. Hawke had been forced to use blood magic to do it. How the fuck was Corypheus alive? 

Stroud had mentioned something about some darkspawn being able to regenerate, but Fenris had never really believed it; it was hard to come back from having your body cleaved into five separate pieces.

He wouldn’t believe it, not unless he saw it for certain. He pushed the door open a crack, and his eyes widened with growing confusion. 

_Grey Wardens?_ Their armour was unmistakable, identical to Stroud’s everyday wear.

Fenris glanced quickly around the room, and his lip curled in instinctive anger. Here in the basement of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, bold and brazen as you please, the Grey Wardens were leading a blood magic ritual involving the Divine Justinia and a strange green orb, and led by Corypheus himself. 

“Who goes there?” Corypheus demanded. 

A Grey Warden hauled the door open, and Fenris sank into a defensive crouch as he focused on the misshapen magister.

His eyes widened in shock. _This_ was the source of the red lyrium vibrations: they were emanating from Corypheus himself. His body was studded with spikes of the evil red crystal, not unlike the way Meredith had looked right before the end, but somehow Corypheus was very much alive and well. 

Fenris curled his lip in disgust. “You vile abomination,” he spat. 

Corypheus’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “You,” he said slowly. “I have seen you before. How-”

Divine Justinia suddenly lashed out with her arm and struck the glowing green orb.

It spun through the air straight towards Fenris’s face. He ducked and instinctively lifted his hand to protect himself - 

_Pain._ Pain like he hadn’t felt in over a decade was burning through his left hand. His head was ringing with screams - his own or the others’ in the room, he couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter because all he could feel was agony… 

And then the room itself turned inside out.

Fenris was falling, tumbling through a nightmarish landscape of floating boulders and ominous hazy mist, and the ground was rushing toward him more swiftly than should have been possible. His head was ringing, fuzzy and disoriented, and he couldn't tell which way was up or down - 

He slammed into the ground with such force that he lost his breath. His head was pounding so sharply that he could feel his pulse behind his eyes. Just before he lost consciousness, he had one last fleeting thought: at least he’d gotten Hawke to promise him that she would stay out of the Temple.

He could only pray that she had actually listened to his wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Housekeeping:  
> \- This fic will update once or twice a week - usually on Friday or Saturday, if not more often.  
> \- If there are particular events or interactions that you would be interested in reading about, feel free to [send me an ask on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll see what I can do!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy stopping by. xoxo


	2. Trouble

_What the fuck is this?_ Fenris thought. 

He ignored the handful of sword-bearing guards in his cell and stared at his left palm in horror. Glowing green lines of light seemed to flicker across the creases in his skin, and as he watched, the lines on his palm started to swell.

Suddenly his entire left hand burst into a flickering network of verdant light. Fenris instinctively recoiled from his own hand, unable to breathe from the shock and the feel of it. It felt like… not like pain, not exactly, but like pins and needles: an uncomfortable and restless pulsing, as though something in his skin was wriggling to escape.

There was a sudden metallic _thunk_ of a key in a door. Fenris looked up from his shackled hands as two female silhouettes stepped into his cell. 

One of the women strode directly toward him. Her scarred face was creased with fury as she circled around behind him and bent close to his ear. 

“I know exactly who you are,” she said. 

He stared at her in surprise as she slowly paced around in front of him. He’d never seen this woman before. How did she…?

A sliver of suspicion wiggled its way into his mind. He narrowed his eyes. “Seeker Pentaghast?” he said. 

She glared at him more ferociously. “I _knew_ Varric was lying about knowing where you were,” she said. She folded her arms and looked down her nose at him. “Maybe everything else he said was a lie as well. Maybe he lied about your innocence in all of this.”

 _Varric._ So Varric was safe, then - or at least alive. That was a relief. But where the fuck was Hawke?

He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and lifted his eyes to the Seeker’s angry face. “If you know who I am, you know I don’t take kindly to being chained,” he growled. “Release me. Now.” 

She drew back slightly in surprise, then ignored his demand. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.” 

Fenris lifted his eyebrows. This was news to him. But… how had the Conclave been destroyed? When had that happened? The last thing he remembered was arguing with Hawke to stay hidden in the woods. He remembered setting off alone, but he didn’t remember making it to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But he supposed he must have done, if Cassandra was saying so- 

She suddenly grabbed his left wrist. Fenris snarled and tried to wrench his hand away, but another flare of green light burst across his fingers. 

He gaped at it in shock. Then the Seeker flung his hand down and pointed accusingly at his palm. “Explain this,” she snapped. 

“I can’t,” he said dumbly. He stared at his own left hand, feeling oddly betrayed by what was clearly the mark of some evil magic on his skin. 

An old and familiar feeling of rage started to swell in his chest. _More magic, forced upon me against my will,_ he thought. As if the lyrium brands weren’t enough, now he had yet more unknown magic in his body, stuck beneath his skin and trying to burst free. 

“What do you mean, you can’t?” the Seeker demanded. 

He glared at her. “What part of my words do you not understand?” he taunted. “I don’t know what this is, or how it got there.” 

She surged toward him and grabbed the collar of his coat. “You’re lying!” she shouted.

Fenris couldn’t help it: his lyrium tattoos suddenly burst to life. He was too enraged, too frustrated by all these unknowns, and the fear… _venhedis,_ the fear was the worst thing of all, this terrible, sucking fear that something had come of Hawke - 

_Fire_. A burning, stabbing agony was suddenly thrumming across his whole body, almost as though his skin was boiling, and he cried out in surprise and pain. 

“Cassandra!” The second woman’s voice broke in, and Fenris gasped and slumped forward on his hands as the pain disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

The Orlesian-accented voice was sharp with censure, and vaguely familiar. “We need him, Cassandra,” she said quietly. 

Fenris panted for breath and lifted his face. “Leliana?” he rasped. He remembered her from her brief visit to Kirkwall a few years ago, but more so from her unexpected presence at Chateau Haine during that foolish wyvern hunt. She’d seemed to trust Tallis about as much as he had. 

Leliana slowly crouched in front of him. “Hello, Fenris,” she said softly. “I regret that we meet again under such… dire circumstances.”

He blew out a careful breath, then sat back on his heels. “Whatever you think I did, you are wrong,” he told her. “As far as I remember, I wasn’t at the Conclave at all. I don’t… I can’t remember how I got here.” He clenched his jaw to control his ever-present rage. This was all too horribly familiar: the shackles and chains, the unwanted magic staining his body, the gap in his mind where his memories should be… It was almost like he hadn’t left the Imperium at all. 

Except that this time, _his_ life wasn’t the one he was most concerned about.

Almost as though she knew what he was thinking, Leliana tilted her head. “Where is the Champion?” she asked. “Would she know anything about this?”

Leliana hadn’t seen Hawke, then. Fenris wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Hawke hadn’t been caught, or even more afraid about where she might be. 

He swallowed hard and forced his face to remain neutral. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. Assuming Hawke was alive - he refused to entertain any other possibility - there was no chance Fenris was going to tell these people where to look for her, not when it was clear that they suspected her just as much as him. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cassandra said sharply.

He shot her a sharp glare. “I don’t know where she is,” he said loudly. “We parted ways a long time ago.”

Cassandra snorted skeptically. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “Varric made it clear that that would never happen.”

Fenris continued to stare at her flatly. _Blasted damned Varric with his blasted stories,_ he thought angrily. Was there anything Varric hadn’t told this woman?

“Besides,” Leliana added, “this looks quite new.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a familiar piece of fabric. 

It was Fenris’s red kerchief - the one Hawke had embroidered and tied around his wrist before they’d left Alamar. Without thinking, he grabbed for the kerchief. “Give that back,” he commanded. 

Leliana tilted her head, and Fenris pressed his lips together, furious at himself for his slip. Then Cassandra took a step forward. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” 

Leliana studied him for a moment longer, then placed the red fabric in his hand before rising to her feet and walking away. Cassandra knelt in front of him and began unlocking his shackles. 

He gazed mistrustfully at her face. She still looked angry, but she seemed more worried now than outright enraged. 

He finally hazarded a question. “What _did_ happen?” he said quietly. 

She tied his hands together with rope. “It will be easier if I show you,” she said, and she led him out of the dungeon and up a set of stairs. 

Fenris glanced around surreptitiously. It seemed that they were in a rather small Chantry. As Cassandra pushed open the Chantry doors, his eyes were instantly drawn to the sky.

His jaw dropped. “What is _that?_ ” he breathed. The sky was dominated by a huge, swirling… _cloud,_ perhaps? Or tornado? Some kind of unnatural, magical formation of light, and it was the same sickening green as the magical mark on his hand. 

Suddenly he understood her suspicion. Magic on his hand and magic in the sky… Of course they suspected him. If he was in their shoes, he would be suspicious too. 

“We call it ‘the Breach’,” Cassandra said. Her eyes were on the sky as she spoke. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She turned to look at him. “If it continues to expand, it may swallow the whole world.” 

He stared at the Breach without replying. While he watched, the Breach seemed to swell, and then his palm burst into flickering light again. 

Fenris hissed with discomfort and shook his bound hands in frustration. “ _Fasta vass,_ ” he spat. 

Cassandra took a step closer to him. “Every time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it _is_ killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” Then, to his surprise, she pulled a knife from her belt and cut his bonds. 

Fenris rubbed his wrists, then carefully tucked Hawke’s scarlet kerchief into his pocket. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“To the Breach,” Cassandra replied. “But your mark must be tested on something smaller. This way.” She jogged toward a gate, and Fenris followed her out of the settlement and into the snow-covered wilds. 

The snowy path was scattered with debris and bodies. Scared-looking soldiers scurried back to the settlement, and Fenris tried to ignore their fear- and hate-filled stares. Being feared for something that wasn’t his fault was nothing new to him, after all. 

He surreptitiously studied his palm as he and Cassandra jogged along the path. “How did I survive?” he wondered. 

She shot him another sideways look, but her face was no longer angry; it was simply stern and worried now. “They say you stepped out of a rift and fell unconscious,” she said. “And… they say there was a woman just behind you. But no one knew who she was.”

 _A woman?_ Fenris’s heart leapt into his throat, and he swallowed it down. No, of course it wasn’t Hawke. It couldn’t be. Cassandra said only he had survived the blast at the Conclave. If it had been Hawke inside that rift, that would mean she was -

He shook his head to dislodge the terrible errant thought. Then a ball of burning green stone streaked down from the sky and smashed into the bridge just in front of their feet. 

Fenris and Cassandra toppled through the rubble onto a frozen river, and the air was punched from his lungs by the impact. Before he could do more than drag in a desperate breath, an unearthly screech rasped across his already-stretched nerves. 

Cassandra hauled herself to her feet. “Demons from the Breach!” she yelled. “Get behind me!” She pulled her sword from her hip and her shield from her back, then charged toward a squalling demon that was just a few meters away.

Fenris stared at it in disgust, then looked around wildly for something to use as a weapon, and his eyes fell on a dead soldier just a few feet away. 

_Perfect,_ he thought. The soldier’s lifeless hand was clasped around the handle of a greatsword. 

Fenris skidded over to the body and dragged the weapon from its grip, then clenched his fists to activate his tattoos and bolted toward a pair of strange and ethereal-looking demons that were closing on Cassandra’s back. He gritted his teeth and sent a flare of lyrium-powered energy at them, satisfied when they seemed to recoil, then experimentally swung his sword in a broad arc.

The attack was successful: his sword somehow cleaved through the demons despite their apparent lack of solidity, and within a few moments, the demons were dead and fading away to smoke. 

Then Cassandra spun on him and lifted her sword. “Drop your weapon. _Now._ ” 

Fenris glowered at her and gripped the greatsword more tightly. “No,” he said. “Not while these foul demons are abreast. I will not be caught defenceless in a fight.” 

Cassandra’s lip curled, and Fenris carefully adjusted his grip, fully prepared to fight her if necessary. Then she surprised him yet again by relaxing her stance and sheathing her sword. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I cannot expect you to be defenceless. It speaks well of you that you did not run.” She eyed him for a moment, then gestured for him to follow her.

While they trudged with difficulty along the snowy mountain path, Fenris eyed her speculatively in return. She was considerably more reasonable than their initial meeting had implied. And more reasonable, too, than Varric’s letters had indicated. And yet she had come back to Kirkwall and forced Varric to leave against his will… 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. She might be more reasonable than he’d thought, but she couldn’t be trusted. Nobody could. 

He and Cassandra continued on their path, fighting demons along the way until they finally reached another small, run-down keep. 

“There,” Cassandra shouted. She pointed just ahead, and sure enough, there was a small glowing rift in the center of the keep. It was spitting out demons while a ragtag group of people fought them off… A ragtag group that included an elven mage, of all unlikely people, and a very familiar dwarf with a _very_ impractically exposed chest. 

Fenris pulled his sword from his back and brought his lyrium marks to life, then phased toward Varric and slammed his pommel into a demon’s howling face. A few minutes later, the demons were dead, and Fenris panted for breath as he stared up at the writhing rift. 

Then someone grabbed his left wrist - the elven mage. “Quickly!” he shouted. “Before more come through!” Before Fenris could pull his hand away, the mage thrust his wrist toward the sky. 

A beam of green light surged from rift toward his hand, and Fenris gasped in shock as his hand began to vibrate. It was a similar pins-and-needles feeling as before, a strange and uncomfortable pulsing, and Fenris gritted his teeth and tried to force the vibration to stop. 

To his surprise, the vibration began to lessen. All at once, the rift disappeared with an odd _thwomp_ of sound. 

The mage released his wrist, and Fenris defensively tucked his hand against his chest. Everyone kept touching his hand, and he did _not_ like it. “What did you do?” he demanded. 

“ _I_ did nothing,” the mage replied. “The credit is yours.” He waved graciously to Fenris’s hand. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake.” He humbly folded his hands behind his back. “It seems that I was correct.” 

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said as she joined them. 

The mage nodded respectfully to her. “Possibly,” he said, then he looked at Fenris again. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The mage’s tone was mild, but his expression was thoughtful as he studied Fenris’s face, and that felt odd somehow: the mage seemed to be studying him, almost like a healer studying a strange disease. 

Then Varric sauntered over. “Fenris!” he said. “Funny seeing you here of all places.”

Fenris looked down at Varric. His smirk was broad, but his eyebrows were high on his forehead, and Fenris knew exactly what he was thinking: _where the fuck was Hawke?_

He dearly wished he knew. He shrugged. “Varric. It has been a long time. I’m pleased to see you again.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed slightly at the blandness of his tone. Then he chuckled and folded his arms as he played along. “Pleased to be involved in another shitstorm, you mean? I didn’t take you for a masochist.” 

Fenris smirked. “People change as the years go by. Perhaps I now enjoy dancing as well.”

Varric chuckled again, and Cassandra frowned at their apparent levity. Then the mage subtly cleared his throat. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said with a small bow. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

Fenris frowned at this odd greeting. “As am I,” he said slowly. 

Varric huffed with amusement. “What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” 

“Ah,” Fenris said. Now he understood why nobody seemed surprised to see him: they’d all been staring at him while he was unconscious. 

That was an uncomfortable thought. How long had he been out of commission, then? More importantly, how long had Hawke been missing? 

He shoved the worrisome thought down into the roiling pit of his stomach and nodded brusquely at Solas. “I am Fenris,” he said. 

Solas nodded in acknowledgement, his face still soft and thoughtful. Then Cassandra stepped forward. “Come,” she said to Solas and Fenris. “We must meet Leliana.”

“What a great idea,” Varric said with mock cheer. “Lead the way, Seeker.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “You should go home.”

Fenris’s eyebrows leapt high on his forehead. _Wait._ The Seeker was letting Varric go? 

“I appreciate your help,” Cassandra was saying to Varric, “but-”

Varric laughed. “Have you been in the valley lately? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need all the help you can get.”

Cassandra glared at him, then made a disgusted noise and stalked away. Varric raised an eyebrow at Fenris and Solas. “She likes me deep down,” he deadpanned. “She just has a weird way of showing it.”

Solas smiled politely and moved ahead to join Cassandra, and Fenris and Varric fell back slightly as they followed the others along the path to the forward camp. 

“Why did you not take the Seeker’s offer?” Fenris said quietly. “She let you free. You should return to Kirkwall.” 

“Now that you’re in the middle of this mess?” Varric retorted. “Not a chance.” He shot Fenris a sideways look. “What the hell are you even doing here, and where the hell is _she?_ ”

Fenris inhaled slowly. “I don’t know,” he whispered. The admission tasted of failure and fear in equal parts. “We were separated.”

“Separated?” Varric said sharply. 

“Not like that,” Fenris replied quickly. “Never like - no. I… You know what she is like. She was desperate to find you,” he said. He was unable to keep the hint of accusation from his tone.

Varric’s shoulders fell slightly as he sighed. “Damn it, Hawke,” he muttered. He ran a gloved hand over his hair.

Unable to stop himself from venting some of his frustration, Fenris scowled at Varric. “You told the Seeker that Hawke and I were inseparable,” he accused. “Why would you tell her that? That Leliana woman tried to use it against me. I’m certain she will try again.” He scowled more deeply. “Furthermore, it’s private.”

Varric scoffed. “No it’s not. Everyone who looks at you and Hawke knows it’s true. Besides,” he said defensively, “it’s all part of the story. You do make for a compelling character, elf.” 

Fenris grunted. They were silent for a moment as they crunched along through the snow-covered stone path. Then Fenris spoke again, very quietly. “We need to escape the Seeker,” he muttered. “I need to find Hawke.” 

Varric didn’t reply, and Fenris frowned at him. “Is there a problem?”

Varric tugged anxiously at one of his earrings. “I wasn’t kidding about the valley,” he said carefully. “It’s… it doesn’t look good. Where exactly was she the last time you saw her?”

Fenris’s heart began to thrum at Varric’s cautious tone. “We were at the southeast lip of the valley,” he replied. “There’s a patch of woods - we took shelter in a small cave there overnight. I told her to wait for me while I…” He trailed off at Varric’s guarded expression, then took hold of Varric’s shoulder.

“Talk,” he ordered. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Varric looked up at him, and Fenris recoiled slightly from the apology in his face. “The valley is a disaster,” Varric said bluntly. “Bodies and burning buildings everywhere. And the demons-”

Fenris released Varric’s shoulder. He shook his head. “No,” he insisted. “She was far enough back. She would have been safe if she…” _She said she would come after me,_ Fenris thought with a fresh surge of nauseating horror. 

There was a bitterness in his throat, thick and hot like bile. He swallowed it and glared at Varric. “She is not dead,” he hissed. “She’s not. I _will_ find her.” 

“Okay,” Varric said. “Okay. I’m with you, elf. You want to find Hawke, then sticking with the Seeker is our best shot for now. She’s been everywhere in this area.”

Fenris nodded. Varric’s tone was calm, and Fenris suspected that he was being humoured, but he was too anxious to care right now. “All right,” he said. “Fine. We’ll - let’s follow the Seeker.”

They hurried to catch up with the others. Cassandra’s face was still creased in a slight frown, but she nodded respectfully to Fenris as she pushed open the heavy gated doors to another keep, this one in considerably better shape than the others they had seen. 

They were instantly greeted by the sounds of arguing; it seemed that Leliana was mired in a heated conversation with a Chantry brother. Cassandra’s lips thinned into a stern line. “Come,” she said, and she led their group over to Leliana’s side. 

Leliana gave them a faint smile. “You made it,” she said, and she turned to the Chantry brother. “Councillor Roderick, this is-”

“I know who he is,” the Chantry brother said. He shot Fenris a sharp glare. 

Fenris frowned at the intensity of Roderick’s scowl. Then Roderick pointed an accusing finger at Cassandra. “As Grand Councillor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

Before Fenris could react, Cassandra took an aggressive step forward. “Order _me_? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” 

The councillor swelled with rage, and within moments, Cassandra and Leliana were bickering with Roderick once more. 

Fenris pursed his lips and turned to Varric. “You are certain this is the most effective way of… moving forward?” he muttered. 

Varric shrugged and patted his crossbow. “Just watch. The Seeker and the Nightingale get results.” 

Fenris frowned slightly and folded his arms. He listened with half an ear as the threesome continued to argue, but his attention was mainly on Hawke’s glaring absence. 

He had to believe she’d been far enough back to avoid the blast, and that she’d done as he had asked and _waited_ for him. As long as she’d waited at that cave at the lip of the valley, she would be fine. 

_Varric and Cassandra said the blast was enormous,_ a tiny voice whispered in his ear - the pessimistic voice of logic. _And Hawke is impulsive and rash. It’s unlikely she would have stayed put-_

He hissed in discomfort. The Breach was flaring again, and his left hand in time with it. 

He curled his lip and shook his left hand in annoyance. Then Cassandra spoke to him. “How do _you_ think we should proceed?”

He looked up at her, distracted by his hand and his roiling thoughts. “What?” he said. 

She frowned slightly. “We must reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” she said slowly. “Do you think we should charge, or take the mountain path?”

“The mountain path is safer,” Leliana interjected.

Cassandra frowned. “But it will take longer. And we lost contact with an entire scouting party through that route.” 

Fenris shook his head in bemusement. “Why are you asking me?”

“You have the mark,” Solas interjected. 

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot agree on our own…” 

Fenris sighed in disgust. He looked at Varric, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Don’t look at me, elf. It’s up to you now.”

Fenris scowled. This was an odd situation, and he didn’t like it. Being thrust into a life-and-death situation that _he_ needed to make the final decision about? 

The others were all staring at him. Finally he waved an impatient hand. He didn’t care what choice they made, as long as they started moving forward. “Fine. Let’s charge,” he said. A more direct path might yield more hints as to Hawke’s whereabouts, since she almost certainly wouldn’t have passed through the mountains. 

Cassandra nodded, then turned to Leliana. “Bring everyone left in the valley. _Everyone,_ ” she said. Then she, Fenris, Varric and Solas headed toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with a handful of soldiers in their wake.

They clambered up a snowy ridge, with Varric muttering curses all the while. Fenris drew level with Solas. “How long was I asleep?” he asked. He needed to know how long Hawke had been missing.

“Three days,” Solas replied. He glanced at Fenris as they continued up the ridge. “I was surprised when you awoke. And yet… perhaps I should not have been.” His eyes fell on Fenris’s tattooed chin. “You are… not a mage. But the marks you bear are magical in nature, are they not?”

Fenris frowned. “Yes,” he said tersely, then changed the subject. “Did you treat any other patients during that time? Any, er…” He’d been ready to ask if Solas had treated any mages, but he realized that he couldn’t, not without treading too close to the real reason for his enquiry.

“Ah. No. You misunderstand my role,” Solas said. “I am not a healer. I specialize in rift magic: the workings of the Fade and its denizens. That is why I studied your mark.” 

“Oh,” Fenris said in mild surprise. “I had thought perhaps… well. I once knew a mage healer. But… it doesn’t matter.” He started to fall back to walk with Varric, but Solas spoke before he could draw away. 

“I had heard about that,” he said. “You speak of Anders, the mage who incited the Kirkwall Rebellion.” Solas tilted his head curiously. “I understand that he was a friend of yours?”

“He most certainly was not,” Fenris snapped. “His actions took hundreds of innocent lives. He almost got Hawke killed with his blasted mage rights campaign.” He broke off as he remembered Hawke’s face that day: her uncertainty and her indecision as she paced in front of Anders, the way she’d slapped and then hugged him on their way to the Gallows. She’d never known when to detach herself from a dangerous situation. She’d never known when to walk away.

His chest and throat were aching. He blinked hard and looked away from Solas. Then Solas spoke again, in a very neutral tone. “Cassandra has spoken of Hawke as well. _She_ was a mage, wasn’t she?”

“She _is_ a mage,” Fenris snarled. He hated the past-tense in Solas’s words, as though Hawke was no longer here - as though she was- 

A hand patted Fenris’s elbow, and he reflexively flinched away before realizing it was Varric. “Come on, let’s catch up to the Seeker,” Varric said cheerfully. He gave Fenris a subtly pointed look and a gentle push on the arm. 

Fenris swallowed hard and nodded, then glanced at Solas once more. His chin was slightly lifted, and the look on his face was neutral and appraising. 

Fenris pursed his lips and turned away, and he followed Varric and Cassandra in silence for some time. Then they came over a ridge, and Fenris’s eyebrows rose at the scene of destruction. 

“This is… Is this the Temple?” he asked dumbly. 

“Yep,” Varric said. “Not pretty, huh?” 

“No,” Fenris breathed. It was almost unrecognizable as any kind of building at all; there was no roof to speak of, blasted away by the explosion that had killed everyone inside. The Breach loomed overhead, as evil and green and glowing as ever, but on the cracked paving stones below, a smaller rift and a contingent of demons were roaming.

He followed Cassandra down the ridge, and their little group fought the demons with a coordinated effort. Solas threw barriers over Fenris and Cassandra, but Fenris couldn’t help but notice the difference in Solas’s barrier compared to Hawke’s; Solas’s barrier felt cool and smooth, compared to the vibrant warmth of Hawke’s protection. 

A wave of longing washed through his chest. He clenched his teeth, and without any prompting from Solas, he thrust his left hand toward the sizzling rift. The energy of the rift reached toward him, and his palm vibrated and trembled at first, but as Fenris continued to focus, the rift seemed to get sucked into his hand until it disappeared.

Once it was gone, Fenris shook out his hand and looked up to meet Cassandra’s approving gaze.

“Lady Cassandra! Thank the Maker that you arrived safely.” A stern and slightly breathless voice chimed in, accompanied by the owner of said voice - another person Fenris knew, and was quite surprised to see.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Cullen?”

Cullen slowed his pace as he drew level with them. “Fenris!” he said. “You’re awake. I… this was your doing?” He waved at the space in the sky where the small rift used to be. “Well done. I must say, it’s odd to see _you_ in the center of all of this.” 

His tone was polite, but his brown eyes were curious, and Fenris’s stomach dropped a little more. Cullen hadn’t seen Hawke either, then. 

Fenris shrugged casually. “You know my fondness for life-threatening debacles,” he deadpanned.

Cullen huffed. “Now that’s a familiar attitude,” he said. He gave Fenris another penetrating stare, then turned to Cassandra. “The way to the Temple is clear. Leliana should be here shortly.”

“Then we must move quickly,” Cassandra replied. “Give us time, Commander.”

Cullen nodded sharply. “Maker watch over you, for all our sakes.” He hurried over to his soldiers and directed them back the way Fenris and his companions had come. 

“He’s the Commander now?” Fenris muttered to Varric as they hurried toward the Temple entrance. “Commander of what?” Varric had told Fenris and Hawke that Cullen had left the Templars about a year ago - news which still surprised and rather disappointed Fenris, who had always respected Cullen’s adherence to his duty.

Varric shrugged. “Commander of the army, I guess.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “And whose army is that?” he said archly. “Nobody is in charge here.” 

Varric grimaced in response. Then they stepped into the Temple, and Fenris slowed in horror as they made their way through the cracked and crumbling halls. 

Bodies littered the ground - twisted and tortured-looking bodies that looked like skin and bone had melted together. They were unrecognizable. Even if one of these bodies was Hawke -

 _No,_ Fenris told himself sternly. _Do not even think it._ He followed Cassandra and Solas further into the Temple until they were looking over a broken banister into a gaping pit that would once have been the Temple’s basement. 

Fenris’s eyes widened. A large and twisted rift floated at ceiling height in the pit, and high above it - so high that it seemed impossible to fathom - was the Breach itself, so large that its green aura took up the entire sky as far as Fenris could see.

He stared at it, then waved a hand towards it. “You expect me to close that from all the way down here?” he demanded. 

Solas clasped his hands behind his back. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Fenris twisted his lips skeptically, then folded his arms. “Fine. Let’s get on with it. Tell me what to do.” 

Cassandra and Solas nodded, and Cassandra turned to greet Leliana as she and a group of archers strode into the Temple. As Solas, Fenris, and Varric made their way around the borders of the destroyed room toward the nearest stairs, Fenris lifted his shoulders uncomfortably. 

“There is red lyrium here,” he said. 

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Where?” 

Fenris shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I can sense it.” 

Solas gave him a surprised look, and Varric narrowed his eyes. “How long has _that_ been a thing?”

Fenris pursed his lips as they continued to walk. “Since the fight with Meredith,” he said. “Perhaps the lyrium in my marks… connected, or… resonated with her in some way. I am not infected,” he said hurriedly as Varric’s lips began to thin with worry. “At least, I don’t feel unwell. I have been fine for years.” He shrugged. “It is just a feeling.”

“Interesting,” Solas murmured. Then he pointed off to the left. “And it seems you are correct. That is red lyrium, I believe.”

“Yep,” Varric confirmed. He glared at the red lyrium as thought it had done him a personal wrong - which, if truth be told, it had. “What’s it doing here?”

Solas peered thoughtfully at another deposit of red lyrium as they passed it by. “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple and corrupted it,” he suggested.

Varric huffed. “It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

“Agreed,” Fenris said.

At that moment, a deep and slightly muffled voice boomed out, making Varric and Fenris flinch. “Hold the sacrifice still.”

A second, terrified voice drifted through the air to join the first. “Someone help me!”

Cassandra hurried over to join them. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” she gasped. “But how…?”

Fenris frowned. A faint niggling memory was tapping at the back of his mind. “We should move on,” he said, and he began to run. 

Finally they reached a stairwell. It was badly broken, but low enough to hop to into the basement pit without harm. Fenris glanced into the pit - no demons - then carefully dropped into a crouch on the ground. 

The others dropped into the pit behind him as he rose and approached the rift. It was directly above him now, shifting and hissing with energy, and as he studied it, his hand sizzled into life again. 

Fenris wrinkled his nose in discomfort. Then another, _very_ familiar voice filled the chamber. 

“You vile abomination,” the voice spat, and Varric looked up at Fenris. “Damn. That’s you, all right,” he said.

“Most Holy called out to you!” Cassandra exclaimed. “But-” 

The rift flared, and Fenris’s palm flared again, and then a vision - or mirage - a scrap of memory, perhaps? - appeared in the cloud of green haze that surrounded the rift. 

Fenris gaped at it. The vision showed the Divine suspended in the air with her arms outstretched, and a shadowy figure in front of her, and then Fenris himself. 

“Run while you can!” Divine Justinia’s image cried out. “Warn them!” 

The shadowy figure spoke in that deep, ominous voice. “Slay the elf.”

The image faded away, and Cassandra spun on Fenris. “You _were_ there!” she cried. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…” She trailed off, then took an aggressive step forward. “Was this vision true?” she demanded. “What are we seeing?”

Fenris glared at her and stood his ground as she approached. “I know as little as you,” he gritted. If he was honest, though, there was something faintly and horribly familiar about that evil voice. But no, it wasn’t possible… 

Solas peered up at the seething rift. “Echoes of what happened here,” he said quietly. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He turned to Fenris and Cassandra. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely.” He twisted his lips ruefully. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra said. She lifted her chin and waved to Leliana’s archers, who were surrounding the pit. “Stand ready!”

Solas looked at Fenris. “Focus on closing the rift. The longer it remains open, the more difficult it will become to close.”

Fenris nodded, then looked at his left palm. With the same kind of focus he used to set his lyrium tattoos to life, he _pushed_ his mind into his left hand. 

His palm burst into verdant life, and Fenris raised it toward the rift.

All at once, the rift tore open, like fabric ripping in half. Then a huge, hideous demon shoved its way out of the rift and landed on the ground with a ground-trembling _thud_. 

The demon released a deep, evil laugh, then took a step toward Varric. Fenris pulled his sword from his back and bolted straight toward it. 

Varric sprang away from the demon’s claws, and Fenris swung his sword at its knee, satisfied when the demon released a howl of pain and anger. 

Varric cocked his crossbow and aimed it. “Thanks for the help, but didn’t the mage give you another job to do?” he yelled, then shot three bolts at the demon in quick succession.

Fenris slammed his pommel on the demon’s foot. “And let you get killed, after all this?” he shouted back. “Hawke would murder me.” 

“Fenris!” Solas’s sharp voice cut through the noise, and Fenris glanced over at him. The mage’s face was creased in a frown as he lifted a flare of flame around a trio of those odd noncorporeal demons. 

“You must focus on the rift!” Solas cried. “It will only get larger!”

Fenris growled in frustration, then glared at Varric. “Step back from this creature,” he commanded. 

Varric smirked as he darted away from another swing of the demon’s fist. “Giving orders, huh? _You_ taking charge now?”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris snarled. “As soon as this Breach is shut, we’re leaving.” He bolted back toward the rift. 

He skidded to Solas’s side and clenched his fists, and the flare from his lyrium tattoos blasted the demons back. He panted for breath as he glared at Solas. “I am here, all right? Go aid the others.”

Solas cast a quick glance over his body. “That is an interesting talent you have,” he said. “I will ask you about that later.” Then he ran off to help Cassandra and Varric and the other soldiers. 

Fenris frowned at his departing back. Solas could ask all the questions he wanted; Fenris was not going to be here to answer them. He opened his left palm until it was gleaming, then flung it toward the sky once more.

It was harder to control the vibration now. It felt like it was moving up his arm and trying to shake him loose from his own body, but Fenris clenched his teeth and focused, and the rift gradually grew smaller. 

Then a demon snuck up behind him and clawed his arm. 

Fenris hissed in pain, then spun on the demon and booted it in its concave chest. “Cassandra!” he bellowed. 

She looked up, then bared her teeth and ran to his side. “Maker take you!” she shouted at the demon, and Fenris turned back to the rift as Cassandra guarded his back. 

He glowered up at the pulsating rift in frustration. “Damned thing,” he snarled, then thrust his palm toward it once more and concentrated hard. Bit by bit, the rift shrunk in size, and after what felt like an agonizingly long time, there was a characteristic _thwomp_ sound.

Fenris’s hand went still, and he dropped to his knees and gasped for breath. He glared at the rift, which was still present - inert-looking, somehow, but still present. 

Then he flinched as a huge wave of… something - energy, perhaps, or magic? - poured out of the inert rift and rippled past them through the remains of the Temple.

The Breach flared suddenly, a blinding flare of white light, and Fenris threw up his arm to shield his eyes. A long, painful minute later, the brilliant white light faded away, and he cautiously lowered his arm. 

He looked up at Solas, who was standing beside him and frowning up at the Breach. “Let me guess. It didn’t work?” he drawled.

Solas frowned more deeply. “Not quite,” he said softly. “But the Breach is… stable. For the time being, at least.”

Fenris ran his left hand through his hair in agitation, then glared at his palm. Then he held up his hand to Solas. “Can you remove this?” he demanded. “I do not want it. You understand how it works. You should be able to rid me of it.”

Solas stared at him for a moment. Then he exhaled lightly. “I am sorry, but I can’t. Not…” He trailed off, then shook his head regretfully. “Not without killing you,” he said softly. “I am truly sorry.” 

Fenris sighed, then rubbed roughly at his palm. “It is not your fault,” he muttered. Then he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled. 

Solas gripped his arm in support. “Are you all right?”

Fenris shrugged him off as Varric, Cassandra and Leliana joined them. “Yes,” he said. “I’m fine.” His head was hurting, and he felt a bit dizzy, but he was otherwise unharmed. 

Cassandra was frowning worriedly at him. “You look quite pale. We should get back to Haven as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you, but no,” Fenris said as politely as possible. “Varric and I will be going our own way. We have… places to be.” The closure of the Breach may have failed, but it didn’t change Fenris’s priorities. Hawke was still missing, and now that he’d done his due diligence and tried to help these people, he needed to find Hawke. 

He _needed_ her. Every passing moment without her was like a knife beneath his ribs, and it was only getting sharper and harder to bear. 

Varric winced slightly. “Fenris, listen…” 

Then Leliana spoke up. “If you leave now, it will convince many people of your guilt,” she reasoned. 

He glared at her. “I am not guilty. I did nothing wrong!” he snapped. “I am as much a wronged party as anyone else.” He thrust his hand at her. “This blasted magic was foisted upon me. You think I would bear this burden by _choice?_ ” 

“I don’t believe any of this truly occurred by choice,” Solas said, somewhat cryptically. 

“Regardless,” Cassandra chimed in, “you are the only one who can close rifts. And you are unwell. You need to rest somewhere safe.”

“I am not unwell,” Fenris retorted. Then he swayed slightly and placed his hand on Varric’s shoulder for support. 

Varric sighed, then gingerly patted his hand. “Come on, elf. Let’s go back to Haven. We’ll figure out our next move from there.”

Fenris dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration. Then Leliana spoke again. “Why do you want to leave so urgently?” she asked. “Are you meeting someone?”

Her tone was bland, but Fenris glowered viciously at her. “I don’t know where Hawke is,” he said bluntly. “Even if I knew, I would not tell _you_.” He glared at Cassandra. “You would have her executed for crimes she did not commit. If you had spent half your resources searching for Anders instead-”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra interrupted indignantly. “I don’t want to execute the Champion. That’s _not_ why we’re searching for her.”

Fenris looked at her in surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Then what do you want with her?”

Leliana raised a placating hand. “Perhaps this is a discussion for a later time,” she said mildly. “Let’s return to Haven. I think we can agree on that much.” 

Fenris clenched his jaw. Clearly these people were not going to let him leave. 

“Fine,” he groused. He pushed away from Varric’s shoulder and carefully began to walk toward the nearest broken-down set of stairs. 

He was silent as they made their way out of the Temple and back in the direction of Haven. The others clearly gauged his mood and didn’t attempt to talk to him. Except for Varric, of course. 

“We’ll find her,” he said soothingly to Fenris. “You can get some sleep, and I’ll ask around at Haven. Carefully and charmingly, of course.”

Fenris gritted his teeth and braced his hand on Varric’s shoulder as they climbed up a short hill. When they reached the top, Fenris looked down at Varric. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Do you think she’s dead?”

Varric hesitated. His eyebrows were lifted in distress, and Fenris swallowed hard and shook his head. “Varric…”

“I don’t know, buddy,” Varric said softly. “I really don’t know. But… maybe we should prepare for the possibility…”

Fenris exhaled slowly. His heavy heart was pounding painfully behind his ribs, and he unconsciously rubbed at his throat. “I told her to wait there while I went to the Temple,” he said. “I told her…” He trailed off. He was the one who’d told her to sit and wait so close to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. If something had happened to her, it was Fenris’s fault. 

If Hawke was dead, it was Fenris’s fault.

He gazed desperately at Varric. “I should have made her leave,” he blurted. “She was only that close to the Temple because of me. If she’d been farther away-”

“Tell Hawke to leave _you?_ Now you’re just talking crazy,” Varric said sardonically. “You know she wouldn’t. Don’t blame yourself.” 

They shuffled down the slope toward the final path back to Haven, and Fenris reluctantly grasped Varric’s shoulder again as they walked along the cracked and icy path. “Of course I am to blame,” he said. “We shouldn’t have been apart. I could have protected her…”

“Uh-huh,” Varric said. “You do realize you only survived that blast by chance, right? If Hawke was with you, she’d definitely be dead.”

“You don’t know that,” Fenris argued, but even he knew it was a weak retort. He must be more tired than he thought. 

Varric huffed in amusement. “Someone clearly needs some sleep. Look, we’re almost there.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Haven, which was just a few dozen paces away. “We can retrace our steps tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Fenris said sharply. “No. We need to go searching today while it’s still light.” 

“Wow. So impatient,” Varric drawled. “You sound just like her.”

Fenris growled in annoyance. Then he had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way along the last stretch to Haven.

Cassandra’s brows were furrowed with concern as she pushed open the heavy gates of the outer barbican to let Fenris and Varric pass. “You must lie down,” she urged. “There is a cabin just up these steps to the left-” 

“I’ve got it, Seeker,” Varric interrupted. He patted Fenris’s elbow. “Come on, elf. Up we go.”

“I am not an invalid,” Fenris complained. “You don’t need to… to coddle me.” He slowly made his way up the stairs, annoyed at how effortful each step seemed to be. It’s not like these stairs were even particularly steep. 

Varric didn’t reply, but his hand hovered at Fenris’s elbow as they ascended the stairs. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Fenris took a deep breath, then sighed heavily and looked to the left. “All right. Now where-”

“ _Fenris!_ ”

The scream ripped through the frosty air and set Fenris’s nerves alight. His heart jammed itself into his throat, and suddenly he was lightheaded, dizzy and breathless with hope. 

He whipped his head around, eyes darting over the crowd of people who were milling around and staring. “Hawke?” he said hoarsely. 

“Maker’s fucking - get out of my way! _Fenris!_ ” There was a commotion to the right, a sudden rise of complaints as a few people stumbled forward, and then a slim hooded figure burst through the crowd. 

“Oh shit. Thank the Maker,” Varric blurted.

Hawke flung her hood off. Her face was pale and dirty, and there was a bloody cut on the bridge of her nose, and Fenris was so relieved that he almost threw up. 

A brilliant grin lit her face - _venhedis,_ that grin, that beautiful, beautiful fucking grin - and she bolted toward him. Fenris took two hasty steps toward her, and a moment later she slammed into him at full force, knocking the breath from his chest and wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck that he could barely move. 

He wrapped his arms around her trembling body and squeezed her firmly. “Rynne,” he croaked. “I thought - _f-fasta vass_...” He trailed off as his throat thickened and swelled with joy. 

She shoved her face against his neck, and a happy trickle of goosebumps fluttered down his spine as she breathed in. “You’re alive,” she breathed. “You’re alive. I knew it. I knew you would be-” She inhaled against his ear, then suddenly burst into tears.

Fenris could feel his face twisting with the same hysterical relief that was pouring down her cheeks. He buried his face in her hair and clasped the back of her neck, and suddenly they were kneeling on the ground ensnared in each other’s arms, unable to stay upright under the weight of the near-miss they’d serendipitously avoided. 

Fenris clutched her close, squeezing her so hard that he knew he was probably squishing her, but he couldn’t make himself let her go. He dragged in a shaking breath and pressed his lips to her ear. “I love you,” he whispered brokenly. “Hawke, I love you, I love you more than anything, I - I thought I would go mad-” 

She hiccuped and ran her fingers through his hair, then carefully wiped his tears away with her fingers. “I love you too,” she said. “Fuck it, Fenris, I love you so much.” She kissed his salt-dampened cheek, then she was kissing his face repeatedly, his cheeks and his ear and his jaw and his nose, and Fenris finally smiled as she continued to assault his face with kisses. 

Varric loudly cleared his throat. “Other people are happy to see you alive too, you know.”

She laughed brightly and wiped her face, then finally released Fenris and turned to Varric. “You clever little fucker,” she said happily, and she pulled him into a tight hug. “Of course you’re completely fine. I should have known.” 

Varric hugged her back, then surreptitiously wiped his eye when she pulled away. “I told you I would be, didn’t I?” he said. “In any case, I’m better off than the broody one here.”

“Why?” Hawke said sharply. She turned back to Fenris and started nervously patting his cheeks, then his neck and shoulders. “What does he mean? What’s happened to you?” 

Fenris shot Varric a forbidding glare. “Nothing,” he said firmly to Hawke. “I’m perfectly fine. I am tired from fighting demons, that’s all.”

Varric frowned at him in confusion, and Hawke peered at him suspiciously as she stroked his face and arms as though to search for injuries. Then Cassandra stepped forward. “You are the Champion of Kirkwall?”

Fenris and Hawke looked up at her, and Fenris noted that the Seeker’s cheeks were oddly pink. “Yes, unfortunately,” Hawke said. “But you can call me Hawke. I’m not here to cause any trouble, I swear. I’m just here for the local beer.” She laughed. 

Fenris squeezed her fingers. “Hawke, this is Cassandra Pentaghast,” he said carefully.

Hawke’s smile froze. Then she rose to her feet and stepped slightly in front of Varric. “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but I can’t be sure,” she said. “What do you want with Varric?”

Cassandra’s eyebrows rose, then furrowed into a frown. “Truth be told, his testimony is no longer necessary,” she said. “We were most interested in finding you.”

“Ouch,” Varric drawled. He pressed a hand to his bare chest. “You wound me, Seeker.”

“‘We’?” Hawke said. “Who is - wait. Is that Leliana? And who is this bald man?” She craned her neck to look over the crowd. “I even thought I saw Cullen when I first snuck in here, but I can never quite recognize him when he isn’t blushing.”

Fenris chuckled weakly. _Venhedis,_ he’d fucking missed her. “The bald one is Solas,” he said tiredly. “He’s a mage. He knows about this - er. I mean…” He trailed off and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t want Hawke to know about the mark, not yet. He didn’t want to worry her. But his head was spinning. All the excitement of the past few minutes seemed to be catching up with him.

Suddenly Hawke was on her knees in front of him. She clasped his face in her cold hands, and he forced his eyes open so he could look at her. 

She looked scared. “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Don’t lie to me. I know something is wrong.” 

“It is the mark,” Solas said urgently. “The energy he expended to stabilize the Breach will have taken a toll. Cassandra, he requires a healer’s attention - my help alone will not be enough, I fear…” 

“Yes, at once,” Cassandra said sharply, and she strode away, barking orders at various people who were nearby.

Hawke was still stroking Fenris’s jaw. “What mark? Stabilize the Breach? What is he talking about?” she said, her voice growing tight with strain. Then she released his face and lifted his left hand. 

“Fenris,” she said slowly, “what the fuck is this?”

He lifted his lazy eyes to her face. “More trouble, unfortunately,” he slurred. Then he lowered his heavy head and crumpled into the comfort of her body. 

“Fuck - _Fenris!_ ” Hawke wrapped her arms around his shoulders and shook him. “Don’t go to sleep,” she said urgently. “Don’t sleep yet. You have to stay awake!” 

He tried to open his eyes, to look at her lovely treasured face, but his eyelids were too heavy. “Hawke,” he rasped. “I… I need sleep. Stay with me.” He just needed a short nap, and then they would leave this place together and find somewhere that he could keep her safe from Cassandra and Leliana and their ominous unknown plans.

“Of course,” she said shakily. “Of course I will, are you stupid? Of course I’ll stay with you. I’m never leaving you again.” She laughed. “In fact, I’m going to stick to you so much, you might get sick of me.”

A drop of water fell on his face - perhaps it was raining? No, it was too cold for rain here. “I shall never grow tired of you,” he muttered. 

Hawke’s gentle fingers wiped the water away. “Fenris?” she said tremulously.

He hummed a soft acknowledgment. _Stay with me,_ he thought. As long as Hawke stayed with him, everything would be all right. 

It was the final thought he had before succumbing to the sucking blackness of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you would like to squeal about Fenris with me! xo


	3. Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW smut. :)

When Fenris woke up, it was to the sound of a very familiar voice reading a very familiar book. 

“... Donnen bypassed the Captain's office and went looking for Jevlan,” Hawke read. “By now the kid ought to be rested up, and Donnen suspected he would need backup if his large, suspicious shadows decided to pick a fight. But Jevlan's bunk was empty.”

She was reading from _Hard in Hightown_ , and her voice was close; just above his head, in fact. The more Fenris came awake, the more information he was able to piece together about his current situation: he was stretched out on a bed, and Hawke was lounging beside him - more like halfway underneath him, given the way his arm was wrapped around her waist. 

He swallowed, finding his throat dry, then spoke in a cracked voice. “Keep going. You’re almost at the part where I appear as the bartender for some unfathomable reason.” 

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Hawke, then the careless sound of the book hitting the floor. “Fenris!” she breathed. “They thought you might wake up today, but they weren’t sure…” She stroked his hair back from his forehead, and Fenris finally opened his eyes to find Hawke’s smiling face looking down at him. 

She looked exhausted. Her golden skin was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. The cut on the bridge of her nose had become a scab, and she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. 

He swallowed again. “What time is it?” he asked.

She gave him a funny look. “It’s… it’s just past noon. Do you know where we are?” 

He frowned. “We’re in Haven. Aren’t we?”

Her face relaxed, and she resumed stroking his hair. “Just checking. You weren’t… you were confused for a while.” 

Fenris frowned more deeply. “A while?” He lifted himself onto one elbow. “How long have I been asleep?” Now that he thought about it, it had to have been at least a day if her cut nose was already scabbing over. 

Hawke grimaced. “Three days,” she said. 

“Three _days?_ ” Fenris stared at her in disbelief, then looked around the small cabin. His armour and cloak were hung in the corner along with Hawke’s, and the greatsword he’d salvaged was leaning against the wall beside Hawke’s staff. 

He sat upright and swung his legs off of the bed, then idly patted Toby’s head as the mabari bounded over to greet him. “We should get moving,” he told Hawke urgently. “That Cassandra and Leliana - they have some kind of plans for you. I don’t wish to find out what they are. Where’s Varric-?”

Hawke grabbed his wrist before he could stand. “It’s all right,” she said. “I already know what they had planned. I sorted it out, and it’s fine. But they still want to talk to you.” 

“To me?” Fenris scowled. “Why?”

She barked out a laugh. “Because of that thing on your hand, of course. Everyone is talking - well, you’ll see soon enough.” She looked away and rubbed her nose.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “What are you not telling me? And what do you mean, ‘you sorted it out’?” He tilted his head chidingly. “Did you kill them?”

She laughed again, then shuffled to the edge of the bed beside him and cupped his neck in her palms. “Maker’s balls, I missed you,” she said. She leaned in and nuzzled his cheekbone. “I was so scared, Fenris.”

He gently ran his fingers through her shoulder-length hair. “I’m all right, Hawke. I just needed some rest.” 

“No,” she said plaintively. “Before this. When we - when I thought…” She shivered and buried her face against his neck. “That was the worst three days of my life,” she whispered. “And then finding you here, but everyone thought you were going to die…”

Fenris wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His throat was swelling with empathy, swelling with the memory of that cloying fear that she was dead, and he swallowed hard to push it down.

Hawke was still talking, her words a warm rush against his throat. “You were really ill, you know,” she said tremulously. “Adan was really worried you would die. And Solas with his fucking frown… Maker’s fucking balls. You know a couple of people tried to sneak in here and kill you?”

“What?” Fenris said in surprise. “Why?”

She laughed wetly and wiped her face. “That bloody mark on your hand. But it’s all right, Varric and I took care of them. With great pleasure, I might add.”

Fenris opened his left hand. Sure enough, a flickering green light still stained his palm, but it seemed less active than before. Less angry, somehow. 

He closed his fist. “Where is Varric?”

“Making friends,” Hawke said. “He figures the more people we butter up, the fewer will come hunting us down if we, you know. Blow up a building or something.” She smirked.

Fenris pursed his lips. “That seems less likely to happen without a certain abomination of a mage by your side.” 

Hawke rolled her eyes at the mention of Anders. Then Fenris reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb. 

Her eyes darted back to his face, and for a moment, Fenris simply studied her: her clear amber eyes, slightly reddened from her tears; the thinness of her cheeks after their month of hard travel, and that new scab on her nose, and the ever-present raspberry-red hue of her lips. 

She was perfect, and so very precious. He gently traced the line of her jaw. “I would never have given up,” he told her quietly. “Even if everyone thought you were lost. I would have searched every inch of these mountains until I found you.”

Her face crumpled, and Fenris wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. “I w-wouldn’t have given up either,” she said shakily. 

He carefully cradled Hawke’s face in his hands, then brushed his nose against hers. Her lips were slightly cracked, and so were his, but the kiss he gave her was perfect all the same: it was a kiss with Hawke, something he was terrified he would never have again. 

She tightened her fists in his tunic and parted her lips, and the relief that rushed through his chest almost rendered him lightheaded. He slid his hands into her hair, and she shifted closer to him and deepened the kiss, soothing the dryness of his mouth with the taste of her tongue. She leaned away slightly to nip at his lower lip, and Fenris exhaled eagerly as her fingers slid over his abdomen. 

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I missed you,” she said huskily. “So fucking much.” Her fingers crept beneath his shirt and up toward his chest, and Fenris dragged in a breath. 

He tightened his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back until she gasped. “As did I,” he said. He dropped a gentle kiss on her throat, then trailed his lips up along her skin toward the edge of her jaw. “I couldn’t - the thought of living without you…”

“Don’t,” she panted. “Don’t think about it.” She shifted onto his lap to straddle him, then clasped his shoulder as her other hand moved higher inside his shirt to caress his nipple. 

He hissed a pleasured breath through his teeth and grasped her hips, pulling her flush to the rising eagerness between his legs. Then Hawke was pulling off her loose tunic, and Fenris dragged his palms up her back to pluck at her leather bustier. 

She leaned back into his palms, and Fenris lowered his face between her breasts to breathe her in. She smelled like sandalwood and sweat and sleep-infused skin, scents that struck of life and of Hawke, and all of them were intoxicating. 

He bit her nipple through her bustier, and she mewled and pressed her chest toward him. “Fenris,” she gasped.

He lifted his face, and Hawke kissed him hard. And then there was a knock at the door. 

They both froze. The knock came again, and then Varric’s voice drifted through the door. “Hey, Hawke? I’ve got lunch for you, if you want it.”

Hawke exhaled and slumped slightly on Fenris’s lap. “Fuck,” she whispered. “We should let him in. He’ll want to know you’re awake.”

Fenris sighed. He eyed her breasts longingly, then nodded. “All right. Call him in.” 

Hawke smiled cheekily, then slid off his lap. “Just a second, Varric,” she called, and she dropped her pointed gaze to Fenris’s bulging crotch. 

He pursed his lips with displeasure, then rose from the bed and made his way over to his armour. He felt wobbly on his feet, but he did his best to hide it, not wanting Hawke to worry more than she’d already done. He pulled on lambswool breeches over his leggings, then shrugged moodily at Hawke. “Go ahead,” he grunted. 

She winked at him, then threw open the door. “Varric!” she said cheerfully. “Your timing is impeccable, as always.” 

Varric stepped inside with a dented tray in his hands. He raised one eyebrow at her mostly-naked torso. “You do realize it’s the middle of winter out there, right?” he said. Then his eyes shifted to the bed. 

His eyebrows leapt high on his forehead. “Where’s Fenris?”

“I’m right here,” Fenris said. He leaned against the fireplace and folded his arms.

Varric whipped his head around and grinned. “Elf! You look good! Surprisingly good, actually.” 

Fenris couldn’t help but smile back. He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you. I hear that you stopped some attempts on my life, for which I am grateful.” 

“Ah, it was nothing,” Varric said breezily. “Bianca was getting bored waiting for your lazy ass to wake up, anyway.” He smirked at Fenris. “Being a bodyguard for the Herald of Andraste might just be our calling.” 

Fenris frowned. “The what?”

Hawke gave tiny cough. “I, um, hadn’t gotten around to telling him about that yet…” 

Varric wilted and gave her an exasperated look. “Too busy catching up on other things?” he said archly, with another pointed look at Hawke’s bustier.

Hawke shrugged and grinned, and Fenris rolled his eyes bad-temperedly. “When you have finished staring at Hawke’s bosom, would you care to explain what you’re talking about?” he drawled.

“Ooh, jealous, are you?” Hawke purred. She bent over provocatively to lift her shirt from the floor, giving Fenris an eyeful of her cleavage in the process.

Fenris raised one appreciative eyebrow, and Hawke grinned. Then Varric huffed and set the tray on the bedside table. “And to think I missed you idiots,” he said ruefully. Then he looked up at Hawke. “Does the Seeker know he’s awake?”

“No,” Hawke said. She pulled on her tunic and fluffed her hair. “He just woke up maybe… twenty minutes ago?” She glanced at Fenris for confirmation. 

He nodded, then unfolded his arms and looked between them. “Tell me now. What is this Herald of Andraste?” 

Hawke and Varric glanced at each other. Then Hawke picked up the tray of soup and bread that Varric had brought. “Here, you should eat this,” she said brightly. She jerked her chin at the table. “Have a seat.”

Fenris frowned. “Varric brought it for you. You need it.” He eyed her hollowed cheeks. 

She shook her head and brought the tray toward him. “You haven’t had anything for three days aside from water and elfroot extract,” she retorted. “You need to eat.” 

“No,” Fenris said loudly. “ _You_ need to eat. You are skin and bones beneath that shirt.” He scowled at Varric. “Tell me about this blasted Herald of Andraste business.” 

Hawke placed the tray on the table with a _clang_ , and she and Fenris glared at each other. Then Varric piped up. “Is this what you guys have become in the past few years? An old married couple who nag each other?”

Fenris shot him an annoyed look. “We are not old,” he muttered. 

“Or married,” Hawke added.

Varric smirked. “Well, some people will probably want that to change, what with the whole Herald thing-”

“Will you stop speaking in circles and tell me what you mean?” Fenris snapped. “I have been asleep for three days already, and before that I was asleep for three more, and I remember little of what happened before that. You might recall that I am not fond of having gaps in my memory.” 

Hawke’s belligerent posture softened at his words, and Varric lifted his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. So the word around town is that you’ve been chosen by Andraste to save the world from the Breach with that mark on your hand.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Chosen by…? Why would they think that?”

Hawke twisted her lips wryly. “Apparently when you… when you came back out of the Fade, there was a woman behind you,” she said. “They say this woman pushed you out of the Fade or helped you or something. A lot of people think it was Andraste. But no one knows for sure,” she added firmly. “You know how these Chantry people are; any excuse to sing Andraste’s praises and they’re going to jump on it.” She sat in one of the chairs at the table and gestured for Fenris to sit in the other. 

He slowly took a seat. Hawke picked up the roughly-shaped little loaf of bread and tore off a small piece, then offered the rest of the loaf to Fenris.

He took it from her fingers. “And… what? They think this cursed magic on my hand is a gift from Andraste?” 

Varric shrugged noncommittally. “Something like that, yeah.”

“But… Andraste wasn’t a mage,” Fenris said.

Hawke rolled her eyes. “She also probably didn’t see visions of the Maker and was likely just touched in the head. That doesn’t stop people from making things up to reinforce what they think.” 

Varric grimaced and shrugged again, and Fenris frowned thoughtfully. He took a bite of bread while Hawke ate a spoonful of soup, then accepted the spoon when she offered it to him. Now that he had food in his mouth, he realized how hungry he was. 

He ate the soup and bread while he thought about what Varric and Hawke had said. He didn’t know what to think about the Andraste idea; as Hawke had said, there wasn’t any clear reason to think the spirit of Andraste had helped him escape from the Fade. He could only vaguely remember a humanoid shape behind him in the Fade, and it wasn’t enough for him to make any guesses as to who it could have been. For all Fenris knew, he could have been fleeing from a desire demon. The Fade was the source of all demons, after all. 

He glanced at his flickering left palm again. It seemed unlikely this magic had come from Andraste. But the vision he and the others had seen - and that deep, malevolent voice in the basement of the Temple of Sacred Ashes - came back to his mind. 

_Slay the elf._ The voice had seemed familiar to him… familiar in a terrible way. If that voice belonged to who Fenris suspected it did, then that was an obvious possible source of this blasted magical mark. 

He flicked his eyes to Hawke as he swallowed another mouthful of soup. She and Varric were quietly joking around, and Fenris decided to hold his tongue for now. He would mention his suspicions to them later. Varric had been in the basement too, after all. Maybe before bringing it up to Hawke, Fenris could ask Varric in private whether the voice had sounded to him like the person that Fenris thought.

A person who should, by all rights, be very dead.

He scraped the last dregs of soup from the bowl, then leaned back in his chair. “All right. The people here think I am some ‘Herald of Andraste’. Now what?” He looked at Hawke. “You genuinely don’t think we should simply leave?”

Hawke’s eyes flicked to his left hand, and Varric spoke. “You may want to hear what the Seeker and the Nightingale have to say first.”

Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “All right. Where are they?”

A few minutes later, after Hawke and Fenris had pulled on their coats and Hawke had put on her boots, they stepped out of the cabin. Fenris shielded his eyes against the bright afternoon sun. As his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, he realized that all the nearby people had slowed to a crawl. 

Most of them were just standing there and staring at him, in fact. And it was exactly as Hawke and Varric had said: they were whispering about the Herald of Andraste. 

“It’s him! That’s the Herald!”

“Why did the Seeker have him in chains, then? I thought Seekers knew everything.”

“It was a mistake. He’s going to save the world.”

“Or maybe it’s a trick. I don’t believe it.”

“Why’d Lady Andraste pick an elf?”

“Shut yer trap, Malleg, or the Maker will smite you for backtalking about His Lady’s Herald!”

“Is that... the Champion of Kirkwall? What’s the Herald doing with a mad apostate?”

Fenris hunched his shoulders. There were so many eyes on him, crawling over his hair and his tattooed chin and his blasted glowing hand, and all the damned whispering was putting him on edge. He’d grown accustomed to the peaceful isolation of the last few years, with only Hawke and Toby for company. Being thrust into this crowded settlement where everyone was staring at him…

“I don’t like this,” he muttered to Varric and Hawke.

Hawke took his left hand and twined her fingers with his. “You’ll get used to it,” she said breezily. Then she glanced at his wary expression. “Well, maybe.”

He reluctantly extricated his fingers from hers. “Perhaps you should be careful,” he warned. “This mark, it’s… it seems unpredictable. What if it injures you?”

Hawke firmly took his hand once more. “I’ll take my chances,” she said. “It hasn’t hurt me yet.”

Fenris pursed his lips, but he allowed her to hold his hand. He didn’t really want to release her, anyway.

As they neared the Chantry, Varric slowed down. “I’ll catch you guys later,” he said. “I’m off to Fliss’s.” 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “You mean you don’t want to come inside and talk to Cassandra with us?”

She was smirking, and Fenris tilted his head quizzically as Varric smirked back. “Nah,” Varric said. “I’ll give her a break from my overwhelming manliness. Come join me later when you’re done.”

Hawke snickered, and Fenris nodded farewell as Varric drifted away. Then Fenris lifted an eyebrow at Hawke. “He and the Seeker don’t get along?”

Hawke shrugged and pulled open the doors to the Chantry. “She’s still angry that he didn’t tell her where we were,” she said. “I’d have thought she’d forgive him after she actually met me, but - ah, well, you’ll see.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes as they walked toward the rear of the Chantry. “Are you going to explain what blasted plans they had in store for you, or am I going to have to forcibly pry the knowledge from your tongue?”

She grinned salaciously at him as they reached a sturdy wooden door at the rear of the building. “That depends. How exactly were you planning to pry this knowledge from my tongue?” She winked, and without waiting for an answer, she pushed open the door. 

Roderick, Leliana, and Cassandra were within. They were clustered around a large table with a detailed map of Thedas rolled across its surface, and Roderick’s face instantly creased into a scowl as Fenris and Hawke stepped through the door. 

He pointed accusingly at Fenris and glared at Cassandra. “Chain him. I want him prepared for travel to the Capital for trial!”

Hawke rolled her eyes and folded her arms. “Maker’s balls, this again? Your stupid demands aren’t like wine, you know. They don’t get better with age.”

Cassandra ignored her and scowled at Roderick. “Fenris is not going on trial. The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” 

“And he is absolved of all guilt, just like that?” Roderick demanded furiously. 

Cassandra took an authoritative step toward him. “Leliana and I heard the voices at the Temple. The Divine called to him for help.” 

Roderick waved an angry hand in Fenris’s direction. “So his survival, that thing on his hand - that’s all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra said firmly. “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. She sounded so confident. 

Hawke nudged him with her elbow. “See, this is what I mean,” she said, very quietly. “Chantry people.” 

He frowned slightly, then folded his arms. “We attempted to close the Breach. The attempt failed,” he said bluntly. “What else would you suggest?”

Cassandra turned to him. “We _must_ try again.”

“And your mark is still our only hope of closing it,” Leliana added. 

“That is not for you to decide!” Roderick snapped at the two women. 

Cassandra scoffed in disgust, then turned around and picked up a large tome from a crate on the floor. She turned back to the table and slammed the tome onto its surface. 

She glared fiercely at Roderick. “You know what this is, Chancellor. A writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act.” She straightened and lifted her chin. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order.” She turned her glare to Roderick once more. “With or without _your_ approval.” 

Fenris watched in tense silence as the Chantry brother clenched his jaw, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door behind him, and Cassandra released an annoyed sigh.

Leliana looked at Fenris. “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old and find those who will stand against the chaos.” She shook her head ruefully and glanced at Cassandra. “We aren’t ready,” she said. “We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” 

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra said. She met Fenris’s eyes. “We must act now, with you at our side.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “It’s my understanding that the previous Inquisition evolved into the Templar order,” he said. “Where are the Templars now? Why are they not the ones keeping order, with all this wild magic wreaking havoc?” 

Leliana’s eyes widened. “You know your Inquisition history, Fenris.”

“He reads a lot,” Hawke interjected. “Don’t let his fine body fool you. It’s merely a shell for his brilliant mind.” She sauntered over to the table and casually seated herself on its edge. 

Fenris shot her a chiding look, and she gave him a tiny wink. Then Cassandra spoke up. “The Templars have lost their way,” she said. “You may have heard that the Lord Seeker denounced the Chantry earlier this year. This has thrown the Templars into disarray. Half of them remain with the Chantry, and the other half…” She sighed. “It is unclear what has become of them.”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “Then perhaps your focus should be on reuniting the Templars and seeking their aid with the Breach.”

“Or seeking help from the mages,” Hawke interjected. “If the Breach is a work of magic, then mages like Solas will be able to study it and figure out how to close it.”

Fenris scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Leliana spoke up. “These are both good options,” she said. “And under the Inquisition, we will explore them both. But only _we_ can do that now, with the authority granted to us by the late Divine.”

Fenris made a skeptical noise. “You say you’re functioning under the authority of the Divine. But that Chantry brother did not seem very fond of the idea,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward the door where Roderick had gone. “You’re up against the Chantry now. Is it your hope to start a holy war?”

Cassandra frowned at his sarcastic tone. “We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is upon you.” Her gaze fell pointedly on his left hand. “As to whether the war is holy… that depends on what we discover.”

Fenris folded his arms. “And if I refuse? Will you shackle me again? Throw me in your dungeon until I comply with your wishes?”

Hawke stopped swinging her legs. “Excuse me? They did _what?_ ”

Leliana flicked a glance at Hawke, then bowed her head to Fenris. “You can go, if you wish.”

“But you should know that while some believe you chosen, many still believe you guilty,” Cassandra added. “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

“Thank you, but we don’t require protection,” Fenris said flatly. “As you well know, we were protecting ourselves perfectly fine before all this.”

“And _you_ failed you mention that you chained him up,” Hawke said to Cassandra and Leliana. “That’s not very much in keeping with your whole ‘let’s stand together’ spiel.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes were narrowed with anger. She slid off of the table and stood slightly in front of Fenris as though to shield him from the other two. 

“That was for _our_ protection. Fenris was an unknown entity at the time,” Cassandra said unapologetically. “But circumstances have changed. He is the only hope we have, and we _will_ protect him.” Then she frowned at Fenris. “Do not pretend this has not changed you. You cannot simply hide the way you did before, not now that everyone has seen what you can do.” 

“The Champion and the Herald of Andraste,” Leliana said thoughtfully. She tilted her head. “You are arguably the two most well-known people on this side of Thedas. It will be impossible for you to hide. But if you remain with the Inquisition, there will be no need for hiding. And we will help you.”

Fenris scowled. They might not be threatening him and Hawke, not directly, but they weren’t exactly offering a choice, either. “What makes you think I require your help?” he demanded.

To his surprise, Hawke sighed and loosened her belligerent stance. “Actually, Fenris, this is why I was thinking we should stay,” she said. “Solas is the only person who seems to understand the mark. He might be able to-” 

“He already told me he could not remove the mark without resulting in my death,” Fenris snapped. “If I am stuck with it, then what help is there?” 

“Maybe he just needs more time to study it,” Hawke retorted. She was holding his hand again, and her thumb was sweeping across his cursed left palm as though his skin was perfectly normal and _not_ stained with yet another brand of unwanted magic.

“We will help you clear your name, as well,” Leliana added. “As Cassandra said, many still believe you responsible for the explosion at the Conclave. If you remain with us-” 

He spun toward her. “I don’t care who thinks I am responsible,” he snarled. “I was not at fault for this. I do not remember it. It is not my prerogative to… to beg forgiveness for something I did not do, or to make excuses for something I have no memory of!” 

Hawke’s fingers were tight around his own. He released an angry exhale, then met Cassandra and Leliana’s wary eyes. 

Then something occurred to him. He turned to Hawke. “This is why they wanted you. They wanted _you_ to lead this Inquisition.”

“Yes,” Hawke said quietly. 

Fenris turned to Cassandra and Leliana. “Well, you cannot have her,” he announced. “You hunt her for years on end, and now you think-”

“It’s all right, Fenris, it’s sorted out,” Hawke interrupted. “They don’t want me to lead them anymore, so it’s fine.” 

“Oh,” he said. He took another calming breath, then eyed Cassandra suspiciously. “Your search for Hawke was relentless, to say the least. What changed your mind?”

“Ah, they took one look at me and decided I was a bad fit,” Hawke said cheerfully. 

Fenris frowned at Cassandra and Leliana. That was an unfair judgment of Hawke. She had never particularly enjoyed being Kirkwall’s protector, and Fenris hadn’t always - or even often - agreed with her decisions as Champion. But Hawke had a knack for soothing ruffled feathers with her humour and her charm, and she had eradicated the qunari threat all those years ago. She was likeable and friendly, and she inspired great loyalty in a very odd mixture of people. Hawke was a strong leader and an even stronger mage. So why…? 

Then Fenris shook his head slightly. _What am I thinking?_ he wondered incredulously. He didn’t want Hawke to be the leader of the Inquisition. If he had his choice, she would be nowhere near the dangers of this blasted Breach. 

Cassandra’s lips thinned into a narrow line. “That is not true,” she retorted. “The Champion-”

“It’s just Hawke, Cassandra,” Hawke said patiently. 

Cassandra scowled. “ _Hawke_ refused to take on the role of our Inquisitor. And…” she sighed. “After what you have been through these past few years, I suppose I do not blame you.”

Leliana delicately rested her fingers on the tabletop. “You do not have to stay,” she told Fenris and Hawke. “But I do believe it is your best option right now. You would be helping us, yes, but you would also be keeping yourselves safe.” She folded her hands humbly. “Fenris, you have seen firsthand the types of demons that are pouring from even the smaller rifts. And those rifts are not only in the Frostback Mountains. By all reports, they are…”

“Everywhere,” Cassandra interjected. “They are everywhere. They _must_ be closed.” 

“And while you help us close them,” Leliana finished, “you will be safe and sheltered here at Haven. You will have whatever resources and protection we can offer at your disposal.” 

Fenris didn’t reply. He studied Leliana and Cassandra in silence for a moment. He was strongly opposed to staying for the purpose of having his name cleared, and he wasn’t convinced that Solas would be able to remove the mark, even with time and further study. 

But thinking about the demons and the rifts, and the dangers they’d all just faced… _that_ got him thinking. Haven was the place where he and Hawke had found each other again. He’d been safe here during two bouts of recuperation, and the settlement seemed reasonably well fortified at first glance. 

If the world had gone as mad as it seemed, then Haven was probably the safest place that he and Hawke could be. 

He looked at Hawke once more, and she raised her eyebrows. “Where would we go if we left?” she said.

It was an entirely rhetorical question. Now that their identities were widely known, there was no way that they could safely sneak away, and Fenris knew it.

He sighed. Then he looked at Cassandra. “Fine,” he said. “We will stand with you. For now, at least.” 

Leliana bowed her head in thanks. “That is all we ask.” 

Cassandra took a step toward him and extended her hand. “Thank you, Fenris,” she said. “We must close the Breach, before it is too late.”

He reluctantly shook her hand as Leliana spoke again. “We will have a lot of work to do, and soon,” she said. “But for now, you should rest. Both of you."

He nodded his head, and so did Hawke. “See you later,” she said. Then she and Fenris left the meeting room. 

They headed toward the Chantry’s exit, and Hawke wrinkled her nose at him. “Makes you almost miss Kirkwall, doesn’t it?”

He grunted. “And this is only the beginning,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine what they have in mind for fixing this. If this mark already failed…”

Hawke twisted her lips ruefully. They pushed open the Chantry doors and stepped outside, and as they sauntered along the path away from the Chantry, Hawke took his hand once more. “Shall we go meet Varric at the tavern?” she asked.

He furtively looked around. Everyone was staring at him still, from the quartermaster to the soldiers and the refugees and the Chantry sisters milling around outside the Chantry doors. 

He shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “Not right now. Let’s return to the cabin.”

She squeezed his hand and nodded, and they made their way to the cabin in an easy silence. 

Hawke opened the cabin door, and they both stepped inside. True to form, Hawke immediately pulled off and discarded her boots as Fenris closed the door, and once the door was locked behind them, he grabbed her hips and pulled her back against his chest. 

“Hey-” She broke off with a gasp as Fenris slid his hand from her sternum up to cradle her throat. 

He gently turned her head to the side and inhaled the scent of her neck, and she exhaled shakily and pressed her bottom back against his groin. “Picking up where we left off, I presume?” she said breathlessly. Then she whimpered as his unoccupied hand slid beneath her coat and tunic to stroke the planes of her belly. 

“Yes,” he murmured. He brushed his nose along the line of her neck, then released her and began unbuttoning her coat from behind. “I suspect we won’t have many moments of peace and privacy in the future. I wish to take advantage of the time we have.”

She allowed him to unbutton her coat, then turned around to face him as she shucked her coat and dragged her shirt off. “You mean that three years of alone time _haven’t_ made you utterly sick of me?” she said. 

Her tone was jocular and light, and Fenris smirked, but his eyes were drifting across her body. She was thinner than usual, more hollowed-out and wiry after the hard travelling they’d done and the hardships of the last few days, and he silently resolved to bring her a hearty meal when they were done. 

He lifted his eyes slowly to her face, then stepped close to her and began untying her breeches. “Never,” he said. “I meant what I said. I will never grow sick of you. Especially not after…” He swallowed hard. “Not after that bitter taste of being apart.”

She pulled off her breeches and smallclothes, then clasped his neck in her hands. “Don’t remind me,” she said, and she started unbuttoning his coat. “I don’t want to think about it. I hated it,” she breathed. “I just - I hated it.” She pushed his coat off, then pulled his tunic up and over his head, and Fenris wrapped his arms around her as she pressed herself against his bare chest. 

He heaved a huge sigh as Hawke tightened her arms around his waist. Her dark-haired head was snugly tucked against the side of his neck, and her naked skin was so warm in his arms, and Fenris simply revelled in the comfortable heat of her body for a moment. 

She turned her head slightly and graced his collarbone with a gentle line of kisses, kisses that travelled away from the dip at the base of his throat and up along the line of his neck, and a pleasant ripple of goosebumps trailed down his arms as she grazed his earlobe with her lips. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she whispered. “You’re not… you were really ill. You don’t feel unwell or tired?”

He shook his head. “I want this,” he replied. Then he gave her a tiny wry smile. “Perhaps you can be on top, though.”

She grinned against his cheek, then kissed his ear. “Deal,” she said. Then her lips were easing their way along the line of his jaw as her fingers slid down to the laces of his wool trousers. 

She breathed slowly against his lips as she tugged the laces loose, and Fenris breathed her in as well, savouring the warmth of her breath against his lips and the delicate touch of her tongue as she traced his lower lip. Then her fingers slid into his trousers, and he inhaled shakily. 

He wound his fingers in her hair and gently pulled, and Hawke tilted her head back so he could access her neck. He pressed his lips to her throat and took the salt of her skin on the tip of his tongue, and as her fingers continued petting his cock within the confines of his trousers, Fenris grew more eager and impatient.

She slid her hand deeper into his trousers and cupped his balls, and Fenris groaned and nipped her neck. She burst out a breathy little moan, then pushed at his abdomen with her free hand. “Lie down,” she panted. 

He pushed off his trousers and lay back on the bed, and a moment later, Hawke was kneeling between his legs. Her hands slid up his thighs, and she dipped her head down toward the rising of his cock, but Fenris reached down and gently captured her chin.

“Wait,” he said. “Take this off.” He slid his fingers down over her chest and slipped his thumb into the cup of her bustier. 

She gasped and twitched as his thumbnail slid across her nipple. Enticed by her reaction, Fenris stroked her nipple with the back of his thumb and stared at the euphoric flickering of her eyelids. Her nipple was firm and tempting, and just when Fenris was on the verge of demanding again that she take off the bustier, she sat back on her heels. 

She spread her knees wider and bent forward once more. But this time, she arched her lower back and pressed her chest toward his groin, and Fenris gasped fitfully as the rod of his cock slid between her breasts. Hawke bent low over his body, her cheek and lips grazing his belly as she arched and flexed her spine, and all the while, his cock was caressed by the silk-soft valley between her breasts. 

The leather edges of her bustier were a distraction, though. Fenris arched his back and lifted his hips toward her. “Hawke,” he begged, “take the bustier off. Please…” 

She sat back on her heels once more, and Fenris opened his eyes to shamelessly watch as she untied the laces of her bustier. Her spine was provocatively arched and her knees were spread, and Fenris’s greedy gaze fell between her legs to find a trail of shining moisture at the inner margins of her thighs. 

He swallowed a sudden flush of saliva on this tongue. Then his eyes rose back to her chest as she pulled the bustier away and dropped it on the floor. 

He stared at the dusky points of her nipples, and his breath grew short and sharp as she lowered them toward his cock once more. She brushed her pert little breasts over his cock, and Fenris jerked his hips again. “Hawke,” he groaned. 

She rubbed her breasts against his cock, and he strained toward her desperately, tortured and tantalized by the softness of her flesh. When the teasing became too much, he ran his fingers through her hair. 

“Hawke, I need more,” he gasped. 

She lifted her chest away from his skin. “More what?” she breathed. Her hands slid across her own skin, fingers tracing her collarbones and down across the hollow of her belly, and Fenris breathed hard as he tracked their slow progress. 

She dipped her fingers between her legs. “More of this?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he blurted. 

Hawke smiled and smoothed her fingers through the heat of her cleft. She lifted her hand from between her legs, then leaned forward suddenly and brushed his lower lip with her slick-dampened fingers. 

Fenris grabbed her wrist, and Hawke gasped as he took her fingers in his mouth. He sucked the sweetness from her fingers, then pulled her fingers from his mouth and looked her in the eye. “Turn around,” he rasped. The taste of her was so damned good, raw and warm and vital, and he wanted more of that: more of her essence on his lips, and more of the ministrations of her mouth, and… _venhedis,_ he just wanted more - more of Hawke and everything she could offer.

She nodded eagerly. Moments later, she was spread-eagled across his face with her back to him, and Fenris groaned as she took his cock into her throat. Then he was devouring the slickness between her legs, collecting her sweetness with his lips and his tongue as he caressed the swollen bud of her clit. 

She arched her spine and spread her legs, and Fenris felt her muffled moans between his thighs as they poured across his cock. He listened to her stifled sounds of pleasure, breathing hard into her cleft as he stroked the bud between her legs with his tongue, and within the space of minutes she was shuddering on top of him.

He ran the flat of his tongue along the length of her cleft, and she released his cock with a gasp. “Oh fuck, Fenris, _please,_ ” she cried. 

He relaxed his head back, then snaked one arm around her thigh and stroked his fingers between her legs. Hawke jolted and mewled again, then cried out more sharply still as he slid one finger inside of her. 

She pressed back onto his finger, then suddenly pulled away from him. Seconds later, before Fenris had time to do more than blink, she was straddling his hips and sliding onto his length. 

Hawke kissed him firmly, and he groaned into her mouth. She was so gloriously warm, both inside and out, and Fenris revelled in her private fragrant heat and the warmth of her chest as pressed herself flush against him. Her hands were buried in his hair, and her gasping lips were pressed to the corner of his mouth, and Fenris tightly wrapped his arms around her. He was surrounded by her, blanketed by the weight of her body across his own and grounded by the tightness of her pussy and the tightness of her fingers in his hair, and…

 _Fasta vass_ , this was the meaning of comfort. _This_ was the meaning of being together, of being reunited and being safe. Hawke was his touchstone, the one single thing he never wanted to live without, and as she moved on top of him, taking him deep and hard with the careful grinding of her hips, he sank happily into the safety and the solidity of her heated form. 

She panted against his lips. Her cheek was hot against his face. “Do you want me faster?” she breathed. 

He shook his head and flattened his palms on her shoulder blades. “No,” he whispered. “I want you exactly like this. I… want anything you would give, anything…” He trailed off and nipped her lower lip, and then she was kissing him again, and Fenris twisted his tongue against her own as she gently tugged his hair. 

She moved slowly over him, hips rising and falling with the easy grace of an ocean tide, and Fenris felt his rapture swelling higher like a growing wave. His fingers took refuge in Hawke’s hair, and his lips were safely anchored against her own as she thrust down onto him in a careful rhythmic tempo.

He gripped her hair and lifted his hips, and she pressed down to meet him in a firm and heady stroke, and soon he was shuddering beneath her, crying out his pleasure against her cheekbone as she rode him to a scintillating finish. 

He gasped one last time as she rolled her hips against him, then loosened his fingers in her hair and stroked the nape of her neck. “Rynne,” he breathed. 

“Yes?” She stroked his neck and nuzzled his cheekbone. 

He turned his face toward her and brushed her nose with his. “Let’s remain here in this bed,” he whispered. “Just you and I and this bed. I don’t wish to leave this cabin again.” He shot a quick glance at the carpet in front of the fireplace, where Toby was obliviously sleeping. “I suppose Toby can remain with us as well.”

Hawke chuckled. “You must be a mind-reader. That’s exactly what I was thinking.” She rolled onto the bed beside him and snuggled up against his side. “Now if only this cabin was somewhere warmer. Like Rivain in the summer.” 

He hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. “A cabin in Rivain. On the beach, perhaps.”

“Exactly,” she whispered. Her fingers were in his hair once more, stroking the strands back from his forehead and his ears. “A cabin on the beach, and fresh seafood… Maybe some of that good Rivaini wine…” 

Fenris smiled as she continued to whisper fantasies in his ear. Once their sweat had cooled, they shuffled beneath the blankets for warmth, and Fenris turned onto his side to face her. 

“Hawke,” he said quietly. “I don’t understand what they expect us to do to close that Breach. Unless they can rouse the Templars-”

“Or the mages,” Hawke interjected.

He twisted his lips. “Or the mages,” he said reluctantly. “I… I just don’t see what they think we can do without some form of outside help.”

She shrugged. Her thumb was gently stroking his chin. “Maybe that’s the point,” she said. “Getting outside help. Maybe that’s what they’re going to send us to do.” 

He huffed skeptically. “A Tevinter elf cursed with malevolent magic, and the notorious mage-loving Champion of Kirkwall. We are hardly the most promising spokespersons for an institution such as this.”

Hawke snickered. “Maybe people will listen to us because we’re gorgeous. That’s how these things work, right?”

“I don’t think so, no,” he drawled, and she laughed again. 

Fenris stroked her arm quietly, and her face grew sober once more. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look like there’s something else on your mind.”

He hesitated and nibbled the inside of his cheek. The problem of that ominous voice in the Temple of Sacred Ashes was weighing on his mind again. 

Finally he sighed. He hadn’t meant to bring this up just yet, not before asking Varric about it first, but now that Hawke had called him on it… “When we tried to close the Breach, there was a… memory, of sorts. Like a reflection of what had happened right before the explosion. Did Cassandra or Varric mention this to you?”

“Yes, Cassandra told me about it,” Hawke said. “What about it?”

He swallowed. “She told you of the faceless shadowy figure that was threatening the Divine?”

Hawke’s expression grew apprehensive, “Yes,” she said slowly. 

Fenris pressed his lips together. Already he regretted spoiling their post-coital cocoon by bringing this up. “The villain they seek… I think it’s Corypheus.”

Her eyes widened, and she sat up on one elbow. “That’s… that’s not possible,” she said. “He’s dead. We killed him years ago. Why do you think it’s him?”

Fenris rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair. “The voice,” he said. “That voice in the temple was familiar. I… I can’t be sure,” he confessed. “We should ask Varric what he thought.” He turned his head to look at her. “But if it was Corypheus…”

“Fuck,” Hawke said. Her eyes were still wide. “I don’t understand. We killed him! How…” She trailed off into silence, and she and Fenris simply gazed at each other for a moment. 

Then she blew out a breath. “Well, you know what we should do.”

Fenris nodded. “Contact the Grey Wardens. We should write to Stroud.”

Hawke nodded as well, then slumped down beside him once more and buried her face against his chest. “Why can’t anything ever be simple?” she complained. “When you kill an insane ancient Tevinter magister, they’re supposed to stay dead.” 

Fenris grunted. “No enemy is ever truly dead when magic abounds.”

Hawke _tsk_ ed and nipped his chest with her teeth. 

Fenris hissed in annoyance at her little bite. “Hawke,” he said warningly.

“Fenris,” she replied mockingly, and he scowled at her until she settled her cheek against his chest once more.

They lay in an uneasy silence for a moment, and Fenris could feel the tension in his jaw as they stewed in their respective thoughts.

Then Hawke sighed and lifted herself onto her elbow again. “Should we tell Cassandra?”

“Let’s speak to Varric first, and see if Stroud has anything useful to share,” Fenris suggested. 

She nodded, but her face was creased with worry. Fenris brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, either,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to make of any of this. But we will deal with it together.” 

To his surprise, she glared at him. “You’d better mean that,” she said fiercely. “Cassandra and Leliana obviously have plans for you and that mark of yours. I’m not staying behind again while you go off doing whatever they want you to do. I won’t have it.”

Fenris frowned. “I’m not suggesting-”

“I won’t be separated again, all right?” she interrupted. “If they send you somewhere, then I’m going too.” 

“I know that,” he said impatiently. “I would not suggest otherwise.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then settled back down with her head on his chest. “Okay. Good,” she said in a small voice. 

Fenris ran his fingers through her hair, combing through the damp tendrils and smoothing out the tangles. He couldn’t imagine why Hawke thought he would willingly be separated from her again. There was little he knew about their current situation, or what the future would hold; he didn’t even know what the next day would hold. But Fenris did know one thing for certain: he would never let Hawke be torn from his side again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …. WELL MAYBE IT’S NOT UP TO YOU FENRIS OKAY
> 
> And no, Fenris and Rynne didn’t get married in the intervening years, what with all the running-from-the-Chantry business. [crickets chirping] [Pika makes shifty eyes and edges slowly out of the room like a creep]
> 
> Fenris really does appear in _Hard in Hightown_ as the bartender! Check out [Chapter 15!](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Hard_in_Hightown:_Chapter_15) Confession that I’ve never actually read all of _Hard in Hightown_ but I legit died when I was scanning it for this chapter and made this discovery… 
> 
> ANYWAY. Now that the set-up for Fenris as the Inquisitor is complete, Fenris and Rynne can set out on some Inquisition adventures… and I am taking prompts! [Check out my prompt page on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/dwcprompts) if you have anything in particular you’d like to see Fenris doing as the Inquisitor.


	4. Val Royeaux

Hawke sighed and shifted her pack on her back. “We do a lot of walking, don’t we?” she lamented. 

Cassandra frowned. “We are nearly there. We will be at the golden gates in another hour.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. “Golden gates? Is that a literal description?”

“Yes,” Cassandra confirmed. “Access to Val Royeaux has been severely restricted since the mage rebellion began. It is a credit to Josephine that they are opening the gates to us at all.”

Fenris grunted. He’d thought the trappings of wealth and power in Kirkwall were bad, but if Val Royeaux had gates made of genuine gold, it seemed that they were in for a display of prosperity more gaudy than anything that Hightown could offer. 

“Flaunting their fortune so blatantly,” he muttered. “It is practically an invitation to invade and conquer.”

“I do not disagree with you,” Cassandra said. “But this city is the heart of Orlais. Such displays of wealth are considered… necessary.” She wrinkled her nose slightly, as though at a bad smell. “But Val Royeaux has always relied on the protection of its Templars more than its gates. Until recently, at least.” 

“Ah, Templars,” Hawke sighed. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see me, if there are any left here. And Solas, for that matter. How do we look? An attractive pair of apostates, I hope?” She ruffled her dark tufty hair with mock vanity. Fenris had recently helped her to trim it back to her signature pixie cut, since they were no longer in hiding. 

Solas smiled faintly. “I believe we will be left alone as long as we remain inconspicuous.” 

Varric chuckled. “Haven’t you been paying any attention these last few weeks, Chuckles? There isn’t an inconspicuous bone in Hawke’s body.”

Hawke gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Varric, how dare you? I can hardly be blamed if my infinite wit and beauty make me the center of attention.” 

Varric snorted, and Solas’s smile widened slightly. Meanwhile, Cassandra pursed her lips in disapproval, and Fenris simply smirked as he observed them all. Cassandra’s reactions to Hawke’s antics reminded him of Aveline when he had first arrived in Kirkwall so many years ago. Indeed, there was something about the Seeker’s single-minded commitment to her duty that made him think she would like Aveline very much, if ever the two had the chance to meet. 

He sighed at the thought of Aveline and of simpler times in Kirkwall. He had never imagined that his tumultuous years in Kirkwall could be thought of as _simple_ , but compared to the heaping number of problems that kept on coming up since the Breach, Kirkwall had been a veritable picnic. First it was fighting through the madness of power-hungry Templars and apostates in the Hinterlands to find that Mother Giselle. Then it was fighting their way across the Hinterlands to speak to Dennet, then closing a handful of rifts and exorcising a pack of wolves and erecting a handful of watchtowers, all so the horsemaster would finally agree to work for them… 

The task of recruiting Dennet had ultimately taken weeks of effort. And still he had to get his horses to Haven, which was going to take weeks longer still, hence this journey to Val Royeaux being done on foot. 

Not that a horseback journey would necessarily have been faster. Fenris was unfamiliar with the riding of horses, never having learned during his youth in Tevinter, so he was certain his lack of equestrian ability would only have served to slow the journey even further.

Hawke sidled up beside him and briefly squeezed his fingers. “How are you feeling?” she asked. 

“Fine,” he said automatically. He adjusted his pack and brushed some travel dust from his sleeve. 

She raised one eyebrow. “No qualms whatsoever about speaking to these Chantry mothers?”

He twisted his lips. “If by ‘qualms’, you mean ‘strong doubts that they will listen to a Tevinter elf cursed with magic and accompanied by two apostates, a random dwarf, and a Chantry traitor’, then… no, none at all.”

“Watch who you’re calling random,” Varric quipped over his shoulder. 

Fenris cast him a flat look, but Hawke ignored him to focus on Fenris. “You’re not just some Tevinter elf,” she said quietly. “You and Varric are the most intelligent men I know. If anyone can logic some sense into these people, it’s you.” 

Solas subtly cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, logic may not be the most reliable strategy in a situation such as this. A sky rife with unknown magic, the fear and uncertainty in the air…” He shrugged. “A passionate plea may prevail, even though cooler heads would be best suited for finding a solution.” 

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “I can’t decide if that was helpful advice or not.”

Fenris huffed softly. That was his general impression of Solas so far. The elven mage seemed to know a great deal about a great many things, but there were times when his advice or observations seemed oddly nihilistic or world-weary, particularly for someone who couldn’t be more than five or ten years older than Fenris himself. 

Solas bowed his head deferentially. “It is simply a suggestion. Fenris may wish to have more than one strategy lined up before we encounter the Chantry mothers.” 

Hawke clicked her tongue ruefully. “You’re probably right. Hey, Varric!” She peeled away from Fenris’s side to join the dwarf instead. “Can you come up with some clever bullshit for Fenris to feed to the Chantry people?”

Cassandra scowled and moved forward to join them. “That is not necessary,” she said sternly. “Varric’s particular brand of _help_ is not what we need right now.”

“Oh come on, Seeker, don’t you know the meaning of ‘forgive and forget’?” Varric complained. “It’s been weeks now…”

They continued to bicker, with Hawke’s bright interjections to break things up, and Fenris sighed and idly rubbed his left palm. 

“Does it pain you?” Solas asked softly. 

Fenris glanced at him, then let his left hand fall to his side. “No. But I would still rather it not be there.” 

Solas nodded once. “I will continue to search for ways of removing it.” 

Fenris shot him a quizzical look as they continued along the road to Val Royeaux. “When are you finding the time to do this research?” he asked. “We have been on the move constantly. I can’t fathom when you would be finding the time to read.”

“Ah,” Solas said. “My methods of searching are somewhat more esoteric than simple reading.” 

Fenris frowned. “Explain.”

“My searching takes place at night, when we are asleep,” Solas said. “In dreams, I travel to the deepest corners of the Fade. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. In ancient buildings and battlefields, I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Solas’s enthusiastic tone. “You are a somniari,” he said slowly. “You do this without supplementing your mana with lyrium or blood magic?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Solas said. He raised his eyebrows appraisingly. “You are well-versed in the ways of magic, for one who does not carry it.” 

Fenris grunted. “Knowing your enemy’s weapon is the first step to successfully deflecting it.”

Solas tilted his head. “You view magic as a weapon?”

“It _is_ a weapon,” Fenris retorted.

Solas lifted his chin slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was cool. “What of healing spells, such as those that Hawke uses so freely? Or the barriers that protect you during battle?” 

“A dagger can be used to slice fruit or to cut a bandage,” Fenris replied. “That does not make it any less dangerous.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Solas smiled slightly. “Interesting,” he murmured. “So you admit that magic can be beneficial when utilized by the right mage.” 

Fenris scowled. “That is precisely the problem. Of all the mages I have ever known, I can count the number of such ‘right’ mages on one hand. On one single finger, in fact, and she is walking ahead of you as we speak.”

Solas glanced at Hawke as Fenris continued to speak. “Magic is a weapon,” he said firmly. “Very few are strong enough to wield it safely, or to wield it without being corrupted by the lure of power that it affords.”

Solas didn’t reply, and they walked together in silence for some time while Varric, Cassandra, and Hawke continued to converse ahead of them. Eventually Solas broke the silence. 

“Thank you for your perspective,” he said. “It is… truly eye-opening.”

Fenris glanced at him quizzically. He seemed sad, or perhaps resigned, and Fenris wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his melancholy reaction. He’d never had this argument with a mage who didn’t either get angry (Merrill and Anders) or crack jokes until the argument was rendered moot (Hawke). 

Fenris felt awkward. He shrugged wordlessly and was considering slipping away to join Hawke instead when Solas spoke again. “May I ask about your lyrium tattoos?”

Fenris frowned and instinctively adjusted his scarf to cover more of his neck. “To what end?” he asked suspiciously.

“Truthfully, I am uncertain how the mark might be interacting with them,” Solas explained. He blinked at Fenris in that benign manner of his. “The more I know about your tattoos and how they work, the more I might be able to predict about the behaviour of the mark.”

Fenris pursed his lips. “I can tell you little of how they work. My former master never deigned to explain the details of his most vile and closely guarded spells to me.”

He didn’t bother to hide his bitterness as he said this. Solas bowed his head respectfully in response.

After a moment of awkward silence, Fenris sighed bad-temperedly. “Ask your questions,” he grunted.

Solas nodded an acknowledgement. “The burst of lyrium-fuelled energy that you use to stun your enemies. How do you channel that energy?”

Fenris hesitated and considered his response. “The tattoos vibrate when they are active,” he said carefully. “I can… focus the vibration. Push it to the very edges of my skin. And with a final push, the vibration flares beyond the bounds of my body to lash my enemies.” 

Solas’s eyebrows rose steadily during the explanation. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “And when you make yourself scarce on the battlefield. When you phase short distances, or pass your hand through an enemy’s body. How is this done?”

Fenris shook his head slightly, then rubbed his forehead. He’d been using the lyrium scars for so long now that he no longer actively thought about their use. Being forced to do so now was like being asked to explain how to walk: the more he tried to consider it, the more awkward and unnatural it seemed. 

But the lyrium scars _weren’t_ natural, and Solas’s questions only served to remind him of this.

He sighed in annoyance. “It is like a meditative state, but… an active one. When I… when the marks camouflage me during battle, it is like I’ve been hidden somehow, but… not by being covered. By being… shifted.” He trailed off and rubbed his forehead again in frustration. “When I tear out a heart, it is as though my hand slides through a different version of the enemy’s ribs. It is still _his_ chest, but… parallel somehow. I cannot explain it better than this.” He glanced at Solas again.

The mage was watching him with a very intense sort of attention. Fenris scowled. “Well? Can any of this help you to remove the mark?” he demanded.

Rather than replying, Solas asked another question. “You were never trained in doing this? Your mastery of these powers... you acquired this on your own, with trial-and-error experimentation?”

“Yes,” Fenris bit off. “I had no choice but to experiment. I was lucky to gain any control at all over these marks.” He narrowed his eyes. “What is your point? What are you driving at?”

Solas opened his mouth to reply. Then Hawke appeared between them and slung her arms around Fenris’s and Solas’s necks. “Good news!” she chirped. “Only thirty minutes until we arrive at the Fancy Gates of Ponciness, or so Cassandra tells me.” She smiled at each of them. “How are my two favourite elves in the party?”

Solas smiled in response. “We are the only elves in this party,” he said.

“Exactly,” Hawke said cheerfully. “Aren’t you glad I like you, then?” She looked at Fenris. “Are you hungry at all? Would you like some trail mix?” 

Despite her casual smile, he could see the sharpness in her amber eyes. He shook his head to reassure her. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” he said. 

She gazed at him for a moment longer, then nodded. She released Fenris’s neck and briefly squeezed his arm, then pulled Solas along the path with her hand hooked through his elbow. “So, Solas, tell me - what’s _your_ favourite way of tricking Templars into thinking you’re not a mage? My personal favourite is to flirt with them to throw them off the scent, but I don’t know how partial you are to that strategy. I should tell you about the first time I met Cullen…” 

Fenris watched with no small amount of relief as Hawke dragged Solas away. He sighed, then moved forward to join Varric and Cassandra, who were still quietly arguing. 

“I still don’t know why you brought me to Haven in the first place,” Varric was saying. “You were her Right Hand. I don’t know what I could have told the Divine that you couldn’t say yourself.” 

“I thought she needed to see the chest hair for herself,” Cassandra muttered. 

Fenris literally stopped in his tracks, and he and Varric stared at each other for a surprised moment. “What was that you said?” Fenris asked. Surely he was hearing things. 

Cassandra scowled. “I thought she needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth, as it were.” 

“Ohh, that’s _not_ what you said,” Varric drawled. “Now come on, Seeker, tell me the truth. Have you been admiring my manly chest all this time? Is that the real reason I’m here?”

She made a disgusted noise. “Of all the things that are unbelievable about you, Varric, the chest hair is what stretches the imagination the most.” 

Varric’s grin widened further, and he looked up at Fenris. “Two mentions of my chest hair in the space of a minute. What do you think that means?”

Fenris shrugged and smirked. “I believe it means you need to learn to sew buttons on your shirt. Or perhaps the Seeker is flirting with you.” 

Cassandra growled at them both, and Varric chuckled. “All right, all right, I’ll cut my losses while I’m ahead. I’ll go check in with Chuckles there. Make sure he’s not going to steal your lady from under your nose.” He winked at Fenris. 

Fenris scoffed and eyed Solas’s bald head. “I am hardly concerned.”

“I don’t know, elf. It’s the quiet ones who you need to keep an eye out for,” Varric said. He smirked as Fenris rolled his eyes, then picked up his pace to catch up with Solas and Hawke. 

Fenris walked side by side with Cassandra in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Despite the undeniably rocky start to their relationship, Fenris had become more relaxed around Cassandra over the past few weeks as they’d travelled around the Hinterlands. After that first day in Haven, she had never again threatened him, and she had defended him multiple times to the many people who continued to suggest that he had killed Divine Justinia. Fenris wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone so willing to admit when they were wrong, and it was refreshing enough for him to feel relatively at ease around her.

Eventually Cassandra spoke. “Fenris, may I ask you something?”

Fenris sighed. If he’d allowed Solas to ask him questions, he supposed he couldn’t deny Cassandra the same courtesy. “What is it?” he said.

“Do you believe in the Maker?” 

He shot her a quick glance. Her expression was serious, as though she really cared what he thought, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. It shouldn’t matter to her whether he believed in the Maker or not, after all. 

“I… am open to the possibility of His existence,” he said slowly. “But… it is difficult to believe anything when the stories of the Maker are so varied from one person to the next. Or from one country to the next. Chantry teachings in Tevinter are very different from what you surely were taught. And the rationale that magisters use to justify their never-ending quest for power is so different from the tales of comfort spun by slaves, they may as well be speaking of different gods altogether.” He gave her a slightly sardonic look. “You may also have noticed that there is very little room in the Chant of Light for elves. Or any other race but humans, for that matter.” 

Cassandra frown deepened as he spoke, but she nodded an acknowledgement. “I understand your perspective,” she said. “But… I do believe there is something of the divine about your coming to us at the time that you did. Your survival, the magic of your mark…” 

She trailed off and continued to study him carefully, but her attention was somehow less irritating than Solas’s. “Do you think that it is possible?” she asked. “That you were chosen by the Maker to help us in this time of need?” She perked up slightly. “There is even something poetic about a former Tevinter slave bearing Andraste’s divine will. Oh, that would be…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Interesting,” she finished. 

Fenris curiously studied her slightly pinkened cheeks, then shrugged. “I don’t know, Cassandra. Hawke would say it is chaos and randomness. That nothing happens for a reason.” 

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “And she takes comfort in that?”

Fenris smiled faintly. “More or less. Sometimes less, depending on what the circumstances have wrought.” His smile faded as he studied his gently glowing left palm. “This does seem like a particularly unfortunate confluence of events, however.” 

Cassandra frowned, but her expression was thoughtful rather than angry. “You did not want the responsibility of this mark, I know,” she said. “But you have handled it remarkably well thus far.”

Fenris glanced at her. “I am surprised to hear you say this. You know I almost left Haven rather than staying to help your cause.”

“I do not believe you would have left,” Cassandra announced.

She sounded very firm, and Fenris raised his eyebrows slightly at her conviction. “If leaving Haven would have kept Hawke safe, I would have,” he told her. 

Cassandra shook her head. “I do not believe she would have left, either. Varric told me of the Champion’s feats in Kirkwall. The people she helped when she could have washed her hands of it, the battles you both fought together…”

Fenris shook his head. He was slightly amused that Cassandra was still taking Varric’s word to be the absolute truth, even though Varric had proven himself to be selectively honest when it came to Fenris and Hawke’s location, if nothing else. “Hawke is incapable of saying no to a pleading face,” Fenris said. “I do not suffer the same hesitation.” 

“And yet you have helped so many refugees in the Hinterlands,” she retorted. 

Fenris frowned. He was starting to feel faintly annoyed. “They were innocents. Caught in the conflict between power-crazed apostates and Templars who have lost their way.”

A small smile lifted the corners of Cassandra’s lips, and she nodded once. “ _This_ is why I believe you to be the Maker’s chosen. It is good that that mark is carried by someone with a good sense of right and wrong.”

Fenris frowned more deeply and didn’t reply. No matter what Cassandra said, he would still have the mark removed or transferred to someone else if he had the choice.

Cassandra said nothing more for some time, and they continued along the path in silence. For lack of anything better to do, Fenris allowed his idle attention to fall on the easy sway of Hawke’s hips as they made their way along the last stretch of the road to Val Royeaux. 

Then Cassandra spoke again. “Fenris, there is something I have meant to say for some time. I… I wish to apologize to you.”

He pulled his gaze away from Hawke’s butt. “For what?” he said.

Cassandra sighed. “That first day, in the dungeon in Haven. When you were shackled and I was questioning you. I… I lost my temper, and I did something unforgivable: I injured you using my powers as a Seeker.” She gazed at him with a very serious frown. “An apology is paltry at best, but it is all I can offer. I am deeply sorry for mistreating you that way.”

Fenris frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath. “Seekers have special powers as a result of our training, powers that allow us to take control when Templars have gone rogue. I am able to set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame.” She looked him in the eye once more. “It turns out that the power works as well on lyrium that is embedded in a man’s skin.”

He stared at her dumbly for a moment as he processed what she was saying. He recalled now what she meant: that singular moment of sheer, burning agony that he’d felt when he was helpless and shackled on the floor. He hadn’t had the time or mental space to consider it further at the time, but now that the origin of that agony was revealed… 

He recoiled from her. “You set my lyrium scars on fire?” he demanded. 

“I did,” Cassandra confessed. “It was a brief moment, but I recall your agony as if it were my own. It was rash, and there is no excuse. I am very sorry, Fenris.” 

He glared at her. “I have killed people for lesser harm than what you have described,” he snarled. 

She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “I do not doubt it,” she said. “I tell you this not in the hopes that you will forgive me, but so that you know I will never again use that power on you.”

He stared at her stonily for a moment longer. Her expression was stern but direct, and to Fenris’s mild surprise, he believed her.

Nevertheless, he took a step away from her. “I will put this behind me,” he said flatly. “But I would advise you to never speak of this to Hawke.”

Cassandra frowned. “You would hide this from her?”

“For your sake,” Fenris retorted. “If she knew about this, she _would_ kill you.” 

“I see gold!” Almost as though on cue, Hawke’s bright voice floated back to them. Fenris and Cassandra picked up their pace to join the others, and Fenris was promptly distracted from his anger by the sight of Val Royeaux’s famed golden gates.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he muttered. 

Hawke huffed out a small laugh. “Where’s Isabela when you need her? I can just see her scraping away the gold filigree with a knife and storing it between her breasts for safekeeping.” She snickered and elbowed Varric lightly in the head.

Varric looked a bit wary, however, and for good reason; the passers-by were whispering and staring as always, but they looked considerably more terrified than curious. Varric looked up at Cassandra with one raised eyebrow. “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are.”

Cassandra scowled. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

“My Lord Herald!” One of Leliana’s scouts ran along the path to the gates and fell to one knee. “The Chantry mothers await you, but so do a great many Templars,” she panted.

“There are Templars here?” Cassandra demanded. 

Fenris frowned at her. “I thought you said they had left.”

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from the Inquisition,” the scout interjected. She seemed quite anxious. “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “Report back to Haven. Let them know that we may be delayed.”

The scout nodded, then rose to her feet and fled through the gates. Cassandra’s expression was stonier than ever as she waved for them to proceed. “Let us be quick,” she said. “This situation is more fraught than we were anticipating.” 

“Isn’t it always?” Varric drawled. 

Fenris grunted in agreement as they followed Cassandra. “Our first mistake was assuming there _wouldn’t_ be a complication of some kind.” 

Hawke looked at them both in surprise. “You’re kidding, right? You two thought there wouldn’t be a complication?” She barked out a laugh and patted them both affectionately. “So handsome and so naive, the pair of you.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and pinched her waist. She squeaked and jerked away, stepping on Varric’s foot in the process. 

“Hey,” Varric complained. 

Cassandra glared over her shoulder at them. “Varric,” she hissed.

“What?” he said defensively, then tutted in annoyance when the Seeker continued to glare at him. “She always blames me,” he muttered resentfully to Hawke, then trotted forward to walk beside the Seeker instead.

Hawke snickered childishly into her hands, then sighed happily and twined her fingers with Fenris’s. “I know everything is awful with the Breach and the Templars and all, but… it’s nice to have Varric back. And Cassandra is like our new Aveline…” She smiled over her shoulder at Solas, who was walking silently just behind them. “I don’t suppose you’re harbouring a spirit inside that lanky body of yours, are you?” 

Solas chuckled softly. “Not as such, no.” 

She snapped her fingers in mock dismay. “Too bad. Perhaps you can be our new Merrill, then,” she said. “Any chance you have a huge ancient cursed mirror stashed away that you’re hoping to repair?”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Hawke laughed and released Fenris’s hand. “Oh Maker’s balls, this is a good story. Let me tell you this one. So my good friend Merrill…” 

She continued to prattle at Solas, and Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation. He was glad she was finding something to enjoy from all of this. Hawke was an inherently social creature, and Fenris knew she was relishing the renewed privilege of talking and flirting with whomever she liked without restriction, now that they were no longer on the run.

This wasn’t to say Hawke was ignorant about the dangers they were facing. Every night as they curled together in their bedrolls to sleep, Fenris would listen to her breathing, and he could tell it was taking her longer to fall asleep than usual. During the rare and fleeting moments when she was alone, she had this peculiar look on her face - a sort of blank neutrality, almost as though she was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry and couldn’t quite make up her mind. The look would disappear as soon as someone was nearby, her expression lifting back into its usual cheeky smile as she lost herself in yet another conversation, but Fenris knew her ways after so many years together. 

Hawke was scared, and Fenris knew that she was scared for him. And he didn’t want to give her any more reasons to worry. So he tried to keep his misgivings to a minimum, focusing instead on the next thing to do and the next step to take that would hopefully get them all out of this mess.

A couple of minutes later, they all stepped into the market to find a gathering crowd facing a trio of Chantry mothers on a central platform, flanked by a pair of young Templars. Fenris sidled up to Cassandra as they moved carefully through the crowd. “Were these the people we were meant to speak with?” he said quietly. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. Her face was creased in a scowl. “But it does not look like they are willing to give us a chance.”

“People of Val Royeaux, hear me!” One of the Mothers raised her arms and addressed the crowd. “Together, we mourn our Divine: her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!” She glared at Fenris and pointed accusingly at him. “Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell!” she announced. “We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need, much less one from vile Tevinter!”

Fenris curled his lip. If only he was given a royal every time someone expressed their surprise that the so-called Herald of Andraste was an elf…

Hawke’s reaction was not nearly as quiet. “Are you fucking joking?” she blurted. She turned to Cassandra. “Remind me why we’re trying to appeal to these people?”

Cassandra ignored her and leaned in closer to Fenris. “Speak your piece,” she urged.

He sighed, then delivered the response he and Cassandra had discussed during their journey here. “Our only concern is closing the Breach. Nothing is more important than stopping the incessant flow of demons from attacking our world.” He pinned the Chantry mother with a narrow-eyed stare. “We are simply picking up the tasks that _you_ have chosen to discard, in all your concerns about power and succession.” 

“Ooh, nice burn,” Varric whispered. 

“It’s true,” Cassandra piped up. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

Just then, the distinctive clank and clash of armour and marching feet caught their attention, and Fenris and the others glanced to the right to see a contingent of Templars approaching. 

The Chantry mother straightened on her podium. “It is already too late!” she gleefully declared. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more.” She beamed at the two foremost Templars as they strode onto the podium to join her. 

Then one of the Templars punched her in the head.

Fenris recoiled, and Cassandra gasped in shock. One of the young Templars on the platform stumbled back in surprise, and a ripple of gasps and subdued screams ran through the crowd.

The leader of the group, a pale and austere-looking man, approached the startled young Templar and patted his shoulder. “Still yourself. She is beneath us,” he said in a carrying voice. 

Fenris peered at him suspiciously. “You’re not here to deal with the Inquisition?” he called.

The austere-looking man shot him a quick, dismissive glance. “As if there were any reason to,” he said, and he jerked his head for the other Templars to follow him off the platform. 

Cassandra swiftly moved through the crowd toward him, and Fenris and the others hastily followed her. “Lord Seeker Lucius,” she said urgently, “it’s imperative that we speak with-”

“You will not address me,” he snapped. He looked down his nose at Cassandra. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet: you should be ashamed.” He lifted his chin and raised his voice. “The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. _You_ are the ones who have failed! You who leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

Fenris glanced at Cassandra, only to find her looking as nonplussed as he felt. Then the young, nervous-looking Templar from the podium approached the Lord Seeker. “But Lord Seeker, what if he really was sent by the Maker? What if-”

The Lord Seeker’s second-in-command interrupted him. “You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question.”

The Lord Seeker continued his speech as though the others hadn’t spoken. “I will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence!” He turned his haughty stare directly to Fenris. “You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition less than nothing.” He turned to face his assembled men. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march.” With one last dismissive glance at Fenris and Cassandra, he strode away with the Templars at his heels.

“Wow,” Hawke drawled. She folded her arms. “Is it just me, or are the Templars even more terrible than usual?”

Fenris frowned after their departing backs. “If they didn’t come to deal with us or to defend the Chantry, then why come here at all?”

“To spew his self-congratulatory nugshit on everyone, apparently,” Hawke said waspishly. “Good to know some things haven’t changed. Meredith would be right at home with them.”

Varric and Fenris looked at her in alarm. “You’re thinking red lyrium could be involved?” Varric hissed. 

Fenris frowned more deeply. He hadn’t felt any of the odd resonance that he now associated with the presence of red lyrium, but with all the noise and hubbub in this crowded square, the lack of additional vibration was hardly conclusive.

“Oh,” Hawke said blankly. “I was more just thinking that Meredith and the Lord Seeker are both assholes. But yes, now that you mention it, maybe it is red lyrium.” She turned to Cassandra, who looked very worried indeed. “Is he usually that, well, _awful_?”

Cassandra shook her head. “He was always a decent man. Never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

Fenris folded his arms. This was seeming more and more ominous. “Bizarre behaviour… grandstanding…” He met Hawke’s and Varric’s eyes once more, then turned to Cassandra. “He may be under the influence of red lyrium,” he suggested.

Her eyes widened. “What would that mean?”

“That the Templars are in hot shit,” Varric said flatly. 

“And that we shouldn’t count on them for help with the Breach,” Hawke added. “The mages would be a safer bet.”

“Unfortunate, then, that the only mages we’ve come across are power-drunk apostates in the Hinterlands,” Fenris drawled. 

Hawke _tsk_ ed at him in annoyance. Then an unfamiliar female voice broke in. “Perhaps I can assist with that.”

They all turned around to find a small elven stranger dressed in Circle robes. Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Solas, who had been rather silent through all of this, finally spoke up. “The leader of the mage rebellion,” he said. He tilted his head curiously. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Fiona bowed her head in acknowledgement. “I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.” Her pale blue eyes drifted thoughtfully over Fenris’s face. “If it is help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

Fenris peered suspiciously at her. “We’ve been trying to speak to one of your people for weeks. Why are you only offering assistance now?”

“Because I’ve seen what you are, and I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is.” She glanced over her shoulder at the platform; the three Chantry sisters were still there, two of them comforting the one who had been struck by the Lord Seeker, and the remaining crowd was milling nervously around as though waiting for guidance. 

Fiona turned back to face them. “The Chantry cannot help anyone. They cannot help themselves. You, however, are in a position to do something of benefit, and we are in a position to help, more so than the Lord Seeker can.” 

Cassandra folded her arms. Her suspicion of the Grand Enchanter was almost palpable. “You were listening to our conversation,” she accused. 

“One needn’t listen in to know that the Lord Seeker is guilty of more than hubris,” Fiona retorted. “Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses from the Conclave, if he’s concerned about them at all.” She steadily returned Cassandra’s stare. “You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? I think he did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate.”

Cassandra frowned but didn’t reply, and Fiona turned back to face Fenris. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe,” she said. “Come meet with the mages. An alliance would help us both, after all.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of her request. With a small and enigmatic smile, Fiona walked away. 

Once she was out of earshot, Fenris looked at Cassandra. “You don’t trust her.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “I do not know who to trust,” she said. She sighed and lowered her voice. “I am embarrassed to admit my judgment of people has been less than reliable since all of this began,” she said. “We should return to Haven and inform the others before making any other moves.”

Fenris shrugged in agreement, then turned around. “Hawke, what-”

Hawke wasn’t there. 

Alarmed, Fenris looked around. Where had she gone? She was beside him a second ago. “Hawke,” he barked.

“Here!” Her pert voice called out from about thirty paces away, and Fenris wilted in exasperation and relief as she jogged over to his side. 

“What were you doing?” he said sharply. He looked down at her hand. “Why are you holding an arrow?”

“I found it,” she said brightly. “Someone shot it straight into the paving stones. It’s even for you!” She handed him the arrow, then looked at Cassandra. “We’re going to Redcliffe, right? Let’s go get that Breach closed already.”

Cassandra frowned and shook her head. “No. We must speak to the others first.” 

Hawke groaned. “But Cullen’s just going to fuss and moan about the Templars. Trust me, we should just head straight back to the Hinterlands. Anything else is a waste of time.” Then she looked at Fenris once more. “Hey, is that a note?”

“Yes,” Fenris said blankly. Indeed, a small and messily scrawled note was tied around the arrow Hawke had found. “It’s… an offer to help the Inquisition? I think?” He handed Hawke the note. 

Hawke held it up so she and Cassandra could read it together. By the time they reached the end of the note, Cassandra was scowling, and Hawke looked delighted. She grinned at Fenris. “It’s some kind of treasure hunt. Oh, that’s hilarious. Come on, let’s find these clues!”

“This is not a foolish game,” Cassandra scolded. “We have more serious matters to attend.” 

“You might have something else to attend, too,” Varric broke in. They all turned to see him wandering over with a small and expensive-looking envelope in his hand. 

Fenris frowned. “Where did _you_ run off to?”

“Ah, you were so busy with your negotiating and all, you didn’t see the desperate-looking messenger trying to get your attention,” he said. He handed the envelope to Fenris.

Feeling more and more bemused by the second, Fenris took the envelope and opened it. It was an invitation to something called a _salon_ from someone named Vivienne de Fer. 

“More mages,” he muttered. He handed the invitation to Hawke. 

She read the invitation swiftly, then threw her head back and laughed. “Oh no, you can’t go to this. You’ll absolutely hate it.”

“Let me see,” Cassandra snapped, and she snatched the invitation from Hawke’s fingers. 

Fenris sighed heavily. They had barely been in Val Royeaux for an hour, and already they seemed to have picked up an entire bushel of additional problems that needed solving. Worse yet, everyone kept expecting _him_ to solve them, just because of this blasted magical mark on his hand. 

He lifted his face only to meet Solas’s sympathetic eyes. They gazed at each other for a silent moment before Varric spoke. “So, elf. I hope you packed a nice outfit for that fancy party,” he drawled. 

Fenris dragged his glowing left palm through his hair. Hawke was right; he didn’t want to go to some upper-crust get-together filled with posturing and power plays. But if the point of this all was to get help for the Inquisition, he wasn’t sure he had a choice. 

Hawke’s fingers slid over his palm to squeeze his hand. “Hey,” she said softly. “You don’t have to go to the stupid fancy party if you don’t want to. What do _you_ want to do next?” 

He gazed sadly at her pretty face. _I want to crawl into a tent with you and block out the world,_ he thought. But the days of hiding alone in a tent with Hawke were long gone. 

It probably boded poorly that Fenris missed those days.

He squeezed her hand, then released her fingers. “One thing at a time,” he said, and he held up the arrow. “Let’s find out what this Red Jenny foolishness is first.” 

Cassandra huffed in disgust, but Fenris only had eyes for Hawke’s mischievous grin. Sorting out the Templars, meeting the mages, closing the Breach… every problem seemed so enormous, and despite Cassandra’s determination, Fenris was not convinced that the Inquisition would be able to solve them all. 

But as long as Hawke was smiling, Fenris would try and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely moving forward... tbh, I just want to get to Skyhold already...
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to chat Fenquisition with me. xo


	5. Too Many Breeches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera's recruitment mission, with Fenris and the crew.
> 
> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but the next one should come out tomorrow.

Cassandra carefully wiped the blood from her blade and glared at Fenris. “Remind me again whose idea it was to pursue this so-called scavenger hunt?” 

“Hawke,” Fenris and Varric said in unison.

“Hey,” Hawke protested. “I wouldn’t have insisted on this if you all really didn’t want to come.” She racked her staff on her back, then rested her elbow on Varric’s shoulder with a winning little smile. “Come on though, you have to admit this has been an entertaining little treasure hunt so far.” 

Solas raised an eyebrow. “Has it?” 

“Yes!” she insisted. “Come on, this has been intriguing.”

“We were just ambushed,” Cassandra snapped. “And we have no idea why!”

“But we didn’t die!” Hawke retorted. “That’s a win!”

Cassandra scowled at her, and she finally winced and lifted her hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Guilty as charged,” she said. “Sorry, Cass. This is just the kind of thing that tends to happen around me.” 

Fenris smirked as he stored his greatsword on his back. Hawke was playing apologetic, but he could tell how much she was enjoying this. The odd notes, the clues, the random inept ambush… Hawke’s eyes were lit up in a way they hadn’t been in months - maybe even years - and Fenris knew why: this was like being back in Kirkwall again, running around Darktown at night and beating up the ragtag gangs of thieves and criminals that preyed upon the unwary. 

Cassandra grunted. “You’d better hope we finish this task with our lives intact. Then I _might_ accept your apology.” 

“Ooh, extra incentive,” Hawke chirped. “Best get on with it, then.” She sashayed toward a set of elaborately carved double doors that seemed to lead into an inner courtyard, then pushed them open. 

And immediately threw up a hasty barrier to deflect a fireball. 

Cassandra gasped and drew her sword, and Fenris grabbed Hawke’s arm to pull her back. “Hawke,” he hissed. “What in the blasted Void-”

“Herald of Andraste!” A loud Orlesian voice hailed him from within the inner courtyard. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.” 

Fenris peered over Hawke’s head to see who was speaking. It was a man in a ridiculous mask and doublet, holding a flask filled with fire in his hand. He flung the flask of fire at them, and Cassandra swiftly threw up her shield and deflected it.

“ _Kaffas,_ ” Fenris snarled. He pushed past Cassandra and glared at their masked assailant. “Drop your cursed fire and explain the meaning of this.”

The masked man laughed loudly. “I won’t be tricked, Herald of Andraste! You think to shake my resolve by pretending you don’t know my plans?”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. What was this blasted fool going on about?

“What plans? Who the fuck are you?” Hawke asked incredulously. “Aside from some pantaloon-wearing Orlesian idiot?”

The masked idiot gasped dramatically. “How dare you! I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts-”

He broke off as a gurgling cry of pain rang out from behind him. He whipped around to look, and Fenris looked up as well to see a slim silhouette moving through the shadows.

Alarmed, he swiftly drew his greatsword, but the shadowy silhouette drew a bow and pointed it at the masked man. “Say ‘what,’” the shadow said.

The masked man puffed up indignantly. “What is the-”

An arrow sprouted in his throat. He stumbled back and fell heavily to the ground. Fenris stared at him in surprise for a moment as he writhed and choked on his own blood. Then he frowned in the direction of their mysterious helper. “Show yourself,” he ordered.

The bow-wielding newcomer skipped out of the shadows. She was an elf with a messy mop of straw-coloured hair, and she pranced carelessly over to their dying opponent without even looking at Fenris. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? Just say ‘what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.” She bent down beside the now-dead body and reached for her arrow, and Fenris watched with growing bemusement as she attempted to pull the arrow back through the messy wound she’d dealt. 

“‘Blah blah blah,’” she said mockingly. “‘Obey me! Arrow in my face!’” She hummed tunelessly to herself as she tried in vain to pull her arrow from the dead man’s throat.

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke said. She wandered over to Fenris’s side with a grin. “This girl is the outcome of the scavenger hunt?”

“It… seems that way,” Fenris said blankly. 

Hawke snorted a laugh. “This is amazing. This is the best thing that’s happened since we got to Val Royeaux.”

“Yeah, it’s been a gas,” Varric drawled. “Minus the ambush.”

“And the flask of fire that almost singed you,” Solas said. 

“And this seemingly unprovoked murder,” Cassandra added, with a disapproving look at the blonde elf. 

Hawke wilted and gave Fenris a pleading look. “They’re ganging up on me. Make them stop.” 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “You made your bed. I’m afraid you have to sleep in it.”

Hawke fanned herself playfully. “My my, Fenris. Talking about going to bed in front of all these people? If you insist…” She sidled closer to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. 

Solas lifted his eyes to the sky as if to search for patience, and Cassandra self-consciously cleared her throat. Fenris shot Hawke a chiding look, then looked down at the little blonde archer. “Who are you, exactly?” he asked. 

“ _I’m_ trying to get me arrow from… this… _hah!_ ” She finally pulled her arrow from the dead man’s throat, then sat on the ground and looked at it triumphantly. “Gotcha,” she said, then tucked the blood-caked arrow into her quiver and finally looked Fenris full in the face. 

She frowned. “And _you’re_ an elf.”

Fenris frowned at her. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “So are you.”

She pouted, then shrugged and perked up. “Well, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow!” She pointed at his left hand. “You’re the Herald thingy!” Her eyes widened as she focused on his palm. Then her gaze travelled up his arm and over his exposed biceps, and Fenris scowled as her uninhibited stare landed on his tattooed neck and chin. 

“What’s with the lines?” she asked. “You look like a map. Can’t tell your arsehole from your ear, can you?”

He grunted, then jerked his chin at the dead man. “Who was he? What did he want with us?”

The blonde elf shrugged and pushed herself to her feet. “No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.” 

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed. “You mean to say this man you killed was a complete stranger to you?”

Fenris held up a hand. “Wait. Who are your people?” he demanded. Why couldn’t this woman give him a clear answer?

She shrugged. “You know. People-people!” She jerked a thumb at herself. “Name’s Sera.” She pointed at a large abandoned crate. “This is cover. Get ‘round it!”

Fenris stared at her in total confusion. Sera widened her eyes comically at him. “For the reinforcements,” she said loudly, as though he was a total dunce. Then she snorted and ducked behind a nearby pillar. “Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches!”

“Breeches?” Fenris repeated faintly. He was starting to feel as stupid as Sera seemed to think he was. Then he whipped around as the sounds of shouting and clanging steel flooded into the courtyard from a gate just off to the northeast. 

A handful of sword-bearing soldiers surged toward them. Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back with a snarl, then stopped to stare. 

The soldiers were all missing their breeches. Fenris only had a split second to marvel at the complete and utter idiocy of the moment before launching himself into the fight. 

In truth, it was hardly a fight and more of a massacre. There were only eight Orlesian soldiers against Fenris and his five companions, and the soldiers seemed so distracted by their lack of trousers that killing them was no more difficult than taking food from a baby nug. By the time the soldiers were dead, Sera was positively cackling with glee. 

She slid her bow onto her back and planted her hands on her hips. “Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches!” she crowed. 

Hawke snickered. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get any better, we get a handful of idiot soldiers with their cocks out.” She sighed happily and slung her arm around Sera’s neck. “You might be a little bit insane, but I like your style.”

Sera’s ears went a bit pink, and she elbowed Hawke. “Phwoar, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Fenris scowled at Sera. “If you had access to their equipment shed, why would you not take their swords instead?” he demanded.

She gave him that look again: a look that indicated that she thought he was missing the point entirely. “Because no breeches,” she said slowly. She waved at the dead soldiers. “Dangly bits all hanging out? Way better than no swords hanging out!”

Varric snorted. “I guess it is kind of strategic.”

“True. It makes a certain kind of sense,” Solas said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “These men were quite distracted during the battle.”

“Right?” Sera said brightly. Then she wrinkled her nose at Solas. “ _Pfft_. You’re way too elfy. Next.”

Solas frowned, and Fenris sighed loudly and folded his arms. “All right. You dragged us into this harebrained fight. Now what do you want?” 

“I want to help your Inquisition-thingy,” she announced.

Cassandra scowled. “You want to join the Inquisition?” she said scathingly. “Why?”

Sera folded her arms and shifted her weight jauntily to one hip. “It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff from my friends? The friends of Red Jenny. That’s me.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “ _You_ are Red Jenny?”

“Well, I’m one,” Sera corrected. “So is a guy in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall… there were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something.” She shrugged impatiently. “It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, _friends_ , be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face: I’m Sera. The friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there.” She waved vaguely toward the gate. “I use them to help you. Plus arrows.” 

Fenris studied her carefully. Beneath the rambling and the crass jokes, he was finally starting to see what she was about. 

“You and your friends are people of low status,” he said. “Invisible people who are ignored by those in power. Servants and pageboys and the like?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s it,” she said brightly. “Them’s the ones. Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don’t eat, sleep, or piss, you’re never far from someone little.”

Fenris nodded, then jerked his head at the dead man that she’d shot through the throat. “And this man? What were his crimes against those who served him?”

Sera shrugged. “Dunno. But a lot of people hated this guy. Someone got a laugh, someone got even, someone got paid.” She shot a pointed look at Cassandra. “And _someone_ has to have it explained to them that free help is good.”

Cassandra folded her arms obstinately. “You killed a man without knowing his crimes. You cannot be certain he was guilty,” she argued. 

“Aw come on, Seeker,” Varric said soothingly. “How good could he be? He tried to kill us without thinking twice.”

“But - that is not - Varric, it is the principle of it,” Cassandra said sharply. “It sets a terrible precedent. Killing people without being certain of their guilt?”

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “Some might argue that that is the life of a common foot soldier,” he said mildly. “A soldier must trust what their commander tells them. Perhaps Sera and her Red Jennies are soldiers for a different type of cause.”

Sera snorted loudly. “We aren’t no soldiers. We’re just friends helping friends.” She gave Fenris a pointed look. “Look, d’you need people or not? I want things to go back to normal, just like you.” 

Fenris studied her appraisingly, then shrugged. “All right. Yes. You can join us.”

Cassandra tutted loudly, but Sera didn’t seem to hear; she punched the air with her fist. “Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be! Plus extra breeches, because I have all these…” She trailed off, then gave Fenris a bright and slightly maniacal smile. “You have merchants who buy that pish, yeh? Got to be worth something.”

“Er, yes,” Fenris said. Sera was practically hopping with energy, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, and Fenris was starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by her constant activity. 

“Bring the extra breeches to Haven. We will give them to the refugees,” Cassandra said. She looked distinctly disgruntled.

Varric patted her elbow. “That’s the spirit, Seeker. Join in with the madness. You’ll get used to it.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and folded her arms. Meanwhile, Sera was chatting cheerfully with Hawke, who seemed to be giving her directions of some kind. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What are you two talking about?”

Hawke blinked innocently at him. “Nothing,” she said. 

Sera elbowed her and snickered. “I’ll find it, yeh? Sounds like good reading for the road.” She darted over to Fenris and punched him affably in the arm. “Haven, right? See you there, Herald! This will be grand!” She ran off toward the gate, and a minute later, she was gone.

“Weird,” Varric said. He looked up at Fenris. “She didn’t even ask your name, did she?”

Fenris folded his arms and gave Hawke a severe look. “What did you tell her?”

Hawke tucked her hands in her pockets and batted her eyelashes. “I might have told her where to find that issue of the Randy Dowager at the docks.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You still don’t know if that belonged to someone.”

Varric snorted. “I don’t know, elf. I think there might’ve been a reason it was left behind a barrel of smelly fish guts by the docks.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Varric, are you jealous? Just because _Swords and Shields_ was a complete flop-”

Cassandra burst into a violent coughing fit, and Fenris and the others turned to look at her. 

“Are you all right?” Solas asked. 

Fenris stared at her in alarm. Her cheeks were flaming red. He tugged the canteen of water from his belt and handed it to her. “Drink this,” he advised. 

She snatched the canteen and gulped a few mouthfuls of water, then delicately covered her mouth as she handed the canteen back. She took a deep breath through her nose, then frowned at Fenris. “I am not so sure about this Sera person,” she said. “The type of ‘help’ she is offering sounds like little more than petty criminality.” 

Fenris lifted his chin. “You come from a long line of nobles,” he told her. “You do not understand her way of life. Being an elf of low birth…” He pursed his lips. “City elves who live in poverty can be one of two things. They can be targets for abuse, or they can be invisible. Often, they are both. They receive little more attention or respect than rats.” He shifted his weight to one hip. “Now imagine that the rats could stage a rebellion of sorts. Working silently to hamstring their predators without being seen…” He sighed and gazed idly at his lyrium-lined palms for a moment. 

Then Hawke’s fingers slid across his palm. He raised his chin and met her warm amber eyes. 

Hawke squeezed his fingers, and he looked at Cassandra once more. “Your Inquisition is not unlike Sera’s Red Jennies,” he said. “You are small, and the Templars and the nobles and the people who look down on you: they think you’re insignificant. That could be for the best, for now. You can work quietly and save your strength. They will underestimate you, and you will be able to catch them by surprise.”

Cassandra didn’t reply, and the others were oddly quiet as well. 

Solas eventually broke the silence. “Well spoken,” he murmured.

Fenris glanced at him curiously. The elven mage’s expression was oddly complex: both proud and melancholy at once.

Then Cassandra sighed. “I am sorry, Fenris. Once again, I…” She trailed off and rubbed her hands together nervously, then sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. “You see things I cannot. You truly are well-suited for this,” she said. 

He frowned slightly and didn’t reply. From the way Cassandra was speaking, one would almost believe Fenris hadn’t been essentially forced into this recruitment role.

Cassandra waved toward the gates that would take them back to the city. “Shall we go?”

He nodded, and their little party moved off toward the gates. Fenris walked hand-in-hand with Hawke as they followed the quiet road back to Val Royeaux. 

She bumped her arm gently against his. “If you’d ever had the chance to stage a slave rebellion in Tevinter, you would have,” she told him quietly. “You were just… too isolated.” 

Fenris shrugged. “Is that all it was?” he said. “I can say I didn’t know rebellion was possible when I was under Danarius’s thumb. But… perhaps I simply lacked the strength to act.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hawke said fiercely. She squeezed his hand. “You’re the strongest person I know. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.” 

He twisted his lips doubtfully. “In any case, Sera’s network could be useful. They may be able to supplement Leliana’s spies, at the very least.”

Hawke smiled to herself and didn’t speak. Fenris tilted his head. “What? Why are you smiling?”

She shrugged and continued to smile. “Nothing,” she said. Then she looked up at him. “I love you, you know.” 

He blinked in surprise at her non-sequitur. “I know,” he said. “I love you, as well.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand once more, and they continued along the road to Val Royeaux. While Cassandra, Varric, and Solas quietly chatted, Hawke hummed quietly to herself, and Fenris thought of Sera. 

He knew that Sera wasn’t what Cassandra had in mind for an Inquisition recruit. But help could take many forms, and in Fenris’s opinion, the Inquisition could do worse than a defiant street urchin with wicked bow arm and a vendetta against power-hungry nobles.

Besides, Hawke would be pleased to have a new and apparently lewd-minded friend.

Fenris smirked to himself and shook his head. _I hope I won’t regret this,_ he thought. But he was fairly sure that bringing Sera on board would work in their favour. Her odd and nebulous band of Red Jennies might offer them a pleasant surprise someday.

That was what little people tended to do, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you would like to chat about Fenris! xo


	6. Humility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne's recruitment mission. Another short-ish chapter! The next one will probably be quite long. I think. I'm flying by the seat of my pants a bit with this fic. 
> 
> Also, can I just say to anyone who's been commenting on this fic: honestly, uhhh, THANK YOU??? You guys are giving me life?? I had a hard time last week where I was honestly thinking about abandoning this fic, which I have never before done (I take pride in finishing every longfic I start). So please, know how important you guys are and how much I appreciate you. Never be afraid to tell me that you are here and that you care. xo

Hawke whistled softly as she and Fenris walked through the huge foyer of Duke Bastien’s mansion. “Damn,” she said. “And you thought my house in Kirkwall was fancy.”

“It _was_ fancy,” Fenris muttered. “This is… extravagant. Excessively so.”

“I think ‘extravagant’ automatically means it’s excessive,” Hawke said. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I am well aware,” he drawled. “Now imagine how much I mean it by saying this mansion is excessively extravagant.”

“Ah.” Hawke chuckled. “Point taken.” She glanced around at the groups of quietly chatting lords and ladies sprinkled around the foyer, then looked curiously at Fenris. “You know, I’m still surprised you agreed to come to this. You really didn’t have to.”

He shrugged moodily. “Cassandra and Leliana think the Inquisition needs help. It seemed churlish to turn down an unsolicited offer of assistance without first hearing it.” He shot Hawke a slightly resentful look. “Besides, you are the last person who should be complaining about me accepting an invitation. You never turn down any invitations to anything.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not complaining. I’m just thinking of you. You hate these things.”

“So do you,” he muttered. 

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But what we do isn’t up to me anymore.”

Fenris took her arm and stopped her. “What do you mean by that?”

A slow and slightly incredulous smile crept across her face. “ _You’re_ the one running this whole Inquisition thing,” she said. “Surely you can see that.”

He stared at her. “That is not true.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows and didn’t speak, and Fenris scowled at her knowing expression. “It’s not,” he insisted. “The Inquisition is Cassandra’s making. It belongs to her and Leliana. It’s… we’re…” He took a breath and gave Hawke a stern look. “You and I are stuck in the middle, nothing more.” He placed his hand in the middle of her back to propel her forward. “They seem to think we will continue running around Thedas helping people after the Breach is closed,” he muttered in her ear. “But this is not Kirkwall, and I am nobody’s Champion. Once this Breach debacle is dealt with, we will stick around for as long as it takes for Solas to remove the damned mark, and then we are gone.” 

Hawke lowered her voice to a whisper. “And what if the person who made all of this happen really is Corypheus?” 

“So what if it is?” he said defensively.

She lifted her shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know. We can’t just… leave, can we?” She wrinkled her nose as though she was tasting something bad. “Shouldn’t we tell someone? Or… do something?”

He clenched his jaw. Then he sighed. “ _Fasta vass._ ” 

She patted his hand sympathetically. “I know,” she whispered. “I don’t like it, either.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Why in the blasted Void is it taking Stroud so long to reply to your letter?” he hissed.

She grimaced. “Weisshaupt is very very far away?”

Fenris gave her a chiding look, and she _tsk_ ed. “I don’t know, all right? It _is_ far away, though. Or maybe he’s just busy with Warden stuff.”

“That much is certain,” Fenris replied. “But with what, exactly? That letter he sent before all of this… He never sent a letter before that was that vague.” 

Hawke shrugged, and they both fell silent for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and shot him a bright smile. “Well, we might as well have some classy food and drinks while we’re here, right?”

Fenris nodded. “Quickly, though. I would prefer to make this meeting as short and discreet as possible.”

“Yes,” Hawke agreed. “No undue attention and all that.” They finally stepped into the main ballroom. 

A servant standing at the door straightened as they approached, then turned to face the elegantly-dressed crowd. “Lord Fenris and Lady Rynne Hawke of Kirkwall, representing the Inquisition.” 

There was a brief hush, then a wave of increasingly excited babble rippled through the room, and Fenris gritted his teeth as every head in the room turned to stare at him and Hawke. 

She laughed lightly. “So much for going incognito.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall and the Herald of Andraste!” An excited Orlesian lady hurried over to greet them as quickly as her flouncy skirt would allow, followed by her gentleman escort. She fanned herself delicately as she reached them. “Oh Maker!” she tittered. “I had heard you were invited you to this soirée, but I thought it was just a rumour!” 

“Ah, too bad,” Hawke said cheerfully. “If we’d known there was a rumour, we wouldn’t have come. We like to keep people guessing, you see.”

The lady covered her mouth in surprise, then let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, but of course, you are joking! Nobody turns down an invitation from Madame de Fer.”

“What does that mean?” Fenris asked suspiciously. “And who is this Madame de Fer?” 

The lady fanned herself again and turned to her male companion, who bowed slightly. “My lady, my lord. Lady Vivienne is the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle. ‘Madame de Fer’ is a… _fond_ nickname the court has given her. We’ve heard she finds it amusing.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. That seemed ominous, somehow. Then the lady delicately placed her hand on her chest. “We have heard so many tales about you both! Lady Rynne, I read _The Tale of the Champion_ and the stories of your many fights and victories, and of you and the Herald himself… It all sounds so romantic.” She giggled and shot Fenris a coquettish look. 

Fenris scowled. _Damned Varric and his damned book,_ he thought. But Hawke simply laughed. “Oh yes, well, it’s certainly interesting to have a famous author for a best friend,” she said pleasantly. “My favourite chapter is the one that talks about how I can turn into a dragon. What did you think of that one?”

The lady’s eyes grew impossibly large. “ _Quoi? Mais non,_ I did not read that! Which chapter was that?” 

Fenris tilted Hawke a chiding look. “Don’t encourage this,” he muttered.

She blinked innocently. “Encourage what? It’s the truth! Turning into a dragon is one of my special skills.” 

The gullible lady was gaping at Hawke as though she really was a dragon. Fenris rolled his eyes. “She cannot turn into a dragon,” he told the lady flatly. “It is wishful thinking, that is all.” He gave Hawke a forbidding look.

She pouted prettily and folded her arms. “Well, thank you for crushing my dreams, Fenris.”

He huffed, half-amused and half-exasperated by her antics. Then the Orlesian lord delicately cleared his throat. “We have heard a great many things about you as well, Lord Fenris.”

He pursed his lips. “I am not a lord,” he muttered. And he didn’t particularly want to hear what people were saying about him. He was sure it couldn’t be complimentary.

Hawke, on the other hand, was ever the gossip hound. “Do tell,” she said with relish.

The lady jumped back in before her companion could speak. “Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade!” she chirped.

Fenris pursed his lips. “You should not believe everything you’re told,” he grunted. 

“That’s right,” Hawke chimed in. “No one can know for sure who exactly pushed Fenris out of the Fade.”

Fenris shot her an annoyed look as the lady gasped dramatically. “So someone _did_ help you out of the Fade!” She turned excitedly to her companion. “Oh, I do hope the Inquisition attends more of these parties. _C’est tellement divertissant._ ” 

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit.”

Fenris and Hawke turned toward the derisive voice. It emanated from yet another fussily-dressed Orlesian man who was strutting toward them with all the airs of a puffed-up peacock. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers,” he announced. “No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ve mistaken us for the remainder of the Chantry. Which is odd, since we’re not wearing wimples…”

Their new antagonist approached, and Fenris could see his sneer beneath the elaborate mask. “The Champion of Kirkwall,” he drawled. “ _Pah!_ More proof that the Inquisition is nothing more than a handful of criminals and strays.” 

Hawke laughed. “You’d be surprised how much a handful of criminals and strays can achieve if they put their minds to it.”

Fenris took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. “I don’t believe this is helping,” he muttered. He wanted to abandon this stupid conversation altogether, but if Hawke kept engaging the nobleman, it would only encourage him to keep prattling. 

She tutted in annoyance and gestured at their new opponent. “Nothing can help this poor fool. Except perhaps a good tailor who isn’t colourblind.” 

The man’s face began turning red beneath his mask. “Insolent bitch,” he snarled. “We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honour, you’d step outside and answer the charges! Or better yet, I will duel your knife-eared pet.” His turned to Fenris and turned up his nose. “They say you were the most formidable warrior in Kirkwall, but you’re not in Kirkwall anymore.” 

Hawke burst out an incredulous little laugh, then took an aggressive step forward. “ _What_ did you just call him?”

Fenris grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I will handle this,” he hissed. Then he speared the nobleman with a glare. “I do not _duel_ ,” he said. “I cleave through limbs and crush hearts with my bare fist. Is that what you are hoping for?”

The nobleman took an involuntary step back. “You don’t scare me,” he blustered. He reached for his rapier, then froze.

Literally froze. A crusting of ice had appeared across his arms and torso, holding him completely immobile. 

Fenris gaped at him in surprise, then frowned at Hawke. “Did you…?”

“No,” she said. She looked just as surprised as Fenris felt. “Not my kind of party trick. You know I prefer to stick to taking my top off.” 

Fenris scowled. “Then who-”

“My dear Marquis. How unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests.” A smooth, cultivated voice drifted down the stairs, and Fenris and Hawke looked up to see a beautiful and elegantly-dressed woman floating down the stairs. 

The woman sashayed over and studied the Marquis as though he was a particularly ugly piece of art. “You know such rudeness is intolerable,” she said in a casual tone. 

“M-Madame Vivienne,” he said through chattering teeth. “I humbly b-beg your pardon…”

“You should,” Vivienne replied, and Fenris stared at her with narrowed eyes. _So this is the First Enchanter,_ he thought. The look on her face was both cool and smug at once as she studied the frozen Marquis, and Fenris felt an instantaneous rush of dislike. 

A mage who used her magic so casually to control the people around her, and in such a petty setting as a party? Fenris didn’t know much about Orlesian politics, but if this is was a prime example, it was not so different from the Imperium. And from the supercilious look on Madame Vivienne’s face, she did not seem much unlike a magister. 

Vivienne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” she mused. Then she turned to Fenris. “My lord, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

“Release him from the shackles of your magic,” Fenris snapped. 

Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted very slightly. Then she gave the Marquis a tiny smile. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life,” she told the Marquis. She snapped her fingers lazily. “Do be more careful with it.”

The prison of ice shattered with a glassy tinkle, and the Marquis gasped in a breath and began to cough. Vivienne folded her arms unconcernedly. “Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt.”

The Marquis bowed hastily to Vivienne and scurried away without looking at either Fenris or Hawke. Then Vivienne treated them both to a charming smile. “Lord Fenris, Lady Rynne. I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” she purred. “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Fenris scowled at her suspiciously. “To what end?” he asked. 

Her smile cooled slightly. Then she waved an elegant hand. “Let me take you on a little tour,” she said. “The garden is such a lovely view at this time of night.” Without waiting for his response, she began to stroll away.

Fenris pursed his lips and glanced at Hawke. “Well?” he muttered. 

She shrugged and grimaced. “You have to admit, she’s got panache.”

“And that justifies her use of magic to… to _freeze_ the first person to speak a curse word in her house?” Fenris demanded.

“I didn’t say that,” Hawke said calmly. “I’m simply wondering if she would wear that dress to go fighting demons.”

Fenris grunted, then jerked his chin in Vivienne’s direction. “Come on. Let’s see what she wants.” 

They hurried to catch up to Vivienne, who led them to a window that did indeed overlook a very well-maintained garden of exotic flowers and topiaries. Fenris frowned at the view as Vivienne spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said smoothly. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Hawke tilted her head. “First Enchanter, you say? But all the Circles are dissolved.” 

“Ah, yes,” Vivienne said. She gave Hawke a brief and rather condescending once-over. “You’re a champion for the rebel mages, as I understand it. And from what I hear, you were a friend to that apostate who set Kirkwall on fire, were you not?”

Fenris whipped around. “No,” he said firmly. 

“Yes,” Hawke said belligerently at the same time. “But I’ll admit, that was _not_ his finest moment. Unfortunate that a slap across the face didn’t smack some sense into him as well.” 

“I see,” Vivienne murmured. She studied Hawke critically for another moment before turning her attention to Fenris. “My Lord,” she said sweetly. 

“Do not call me that,” he said brusquely. “It is simply ‘Fenris’.” 

Vivienne paused, then gave him the tiniest hint of a smile before going on. “I didn’t invite you to the chateau for mere pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.” She lifted her chin. “As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Loyal mages?” she repeated slowly. “Loyal to whom?”

“To the people of Thedas, of course,” Vivienne said. “We have not forgotten the commandment, as _some_ have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

Hawke frowned at her pointed little dig, and Fenris gave Vivienne a shrewd look. “Yes. Magic exists to serve man, not to rule over him,” he said. He jerked his chin in the direction of the ballroom. “And what would you call that blatant display of rulership that we just witnessed?”

Vivienne blinked. “My dear, whatever do you mean?”

Fenris pointed at her accusingly. “You used your magic to muzzle a man who spoke words that you didn’t like,” he said. “You used it to punish him for failing to comply with the way you see the world. How is that not a perversion of the Canticle of Transfigurations?”

Hawke shot him a surprised look. “Damn. You were actually listening during all those chats with Sebastian, weren’t you?”

Vivienne ignored her. “My dear,” she said to Fenris, “the Marquis was speaking against you. Words are as dangerous as any weapon of steel. More so, in fact, and I would counsel you to learn that lesson quite quickly.” She delicately brushed an invisible speck of dust from her snow-white sleeve. “I personally would view such an insult as a direct attack requiring a direct defense. Hence my quick and effective actions.” 

Fenris sneered at her condescending tone. “I disagree,” he said bluntly. “You used your magic to control him. To stifle him, to - to shackle him to your will and smother him!” 

“What would you have done instead?” Vivienne asked mildly. “Drawn your sword to skewer him on my ballroom floor?” She waved her fingers dismissively. “Such a messy solution, my dear. A well-chosen word and a hint of magic can often achieve what no number of swords can do.” 

Fenris glared at her. “You would have killed him with a snap of your fingers if I had said the word,” he snarled. “You say you believe magic should be leashed and controlled, but your actions say otherwise.”

Vivienne smiled sweetly, and the expression only made Fenris’s hackles rise even further. Before he or Vivienne could say anything more, Hawke interrupted. “Tell me something, Lady Vivienne,” she said. “You say you’re the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, even though the Circles no longer exist. So what do you see happening with the rebel mages? You would force them all back into Circles, given the choice?”

“Darling, there is no choice,” Vivienne said. Her tone of voice was suggestive of a teacher speaking to a particularly stupid child. “Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows magic will find neither on its own.”

“That’s not true,” Hawke said. “Mages are capable of teaching each other to control their magic without Templars breathing down their necks.”

Fenris rubbed his forehead. He was suddenly exhausted. This situation was swiftly going from bad to worse. First it was having everyone in the room gape and gawk at him and Hawke. Then it was being called a knife-ear by some idiot noble. And now he was suffering through the unending argument of mage rights with a complete stranger?

Vivienne laughed lightly. “And where do you suppose you’ve ever seen such a thing actually work in practice? When have _you_ ever seen mages teaching mages without falling to complete corruption?”

“You are looking at her,” Fenris interjected tiredly. He waved a hand at Hawke. “She has been an apostate her entire life. Her father taught her everything she knows, and taught her well.” 

Hawke dropped her belligerent pose and looked at him in surprise. “You’re defending mage rights?” she said slowly.

“I am defending _you_ ,” he told her. “You are an example to be followed. Many mages could stand to learn something from you.” He shot Vivienne a filthy look.

Vivienne scoffed. “My dear Lord Fenris, I refuse to believe that your apostate lover has a greater talent with magic than an Enchantress of the Imperial Court.” 

“And _that_ is why you will not be joining the Inquisition,” Fenris retorted. “I have no need for mages with talent. I need mages with humility.” He placed his hand at the small of Hawke’s back and ushered her out of the room without saying goodbye to Vivienne.

Hawke was quiet until they returned to the busy ballroom. Then she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and batted her eyelashes at him. “So chivalrous,” she simpered. “You didn’t have to stand up for me.”

“I did,” he said firmly. “She… that woman… _kaffas_ , she would be right at home in the Imperium.”

Hawke snickered. “Maybe she’ll go there now since you turned her down.” She squeezed his arm and grinned. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Fenris shrugged bad-temperedly. “Leliana and Cassandra want to put us in charge of recruiting? Then I shall use my own criteria to recruit.” He lifted a hand in polite refusal as a passing waiter stopped to offer them a tray of sparkling wine.

Hawke, however, plucked two glasses from the tray and handed one to him. “Come on, Fenris, we might as well have a drink now.” She smiled and winked at the waiter, who smiled back and bowed before drifting away.

Fenris curled his lip, but took the glass nonetheless. He tapped his glass against the edge of Hawke’s. “ _Benefaris_ ,” he muttered. “A toast to going home as quickly as possible.”

Hawke sipped her wine, then shot him a little sideways look. “Is Haven our home now, then?” she asked.

Fenris paused, then lowered his glass from his lips. “No. I simply meant…” He trailed off and frowned at her. “Why? Do _you_ consider it our home?”

She shrugged. Her coppery gaze was warm as she studied his face. “It’s safe enough. And our friends are there.” 

He looked away from her and sipped his wine to stall for time. He wouldn’t necessarily consider Solas and Cassandra and the others to be friends, but his criteria for friendship had always been considerably stricter than Hawke’s. 

Hawke snickered again, and Fenris raised one eyebrow. “What?”

She rubbed her nose, then shot him a little smirk. “We should have brought Sera along to this thing.” 

Fenris stared at her, then smirked as well. This mansion and everyone in it epitomized everything that their odd new companion seemed to hate. “Keep it in mind for the next time we’re invited to this kind of affair,” he said.

Hawke laughed, then finished the last of her wine and waved to another nearby waiter with a tray of glasses. “Well, I think we need a second drink. We have one other cause to celebrate.”

“Oh yes?” Fenris drawled. “And what’s that?” 

She smiled slowly at him. “You and I both dislike that Vivienne woman. I think this is the first time we’ve agreed on something.”

He huffed in amusement and pinched her waist. “It is not the first time.” 

She giggled and slapped at his hand. “It might be. Now come on, I think we should have sex in one of her billion spare bedrooms to celebrate.”

Fenris chuckled and shook his head. “I think not.” He finished his last sip of wine, then glanced at Hawke. 

She bit her lip and lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

Fenris grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this go against anyone's expectations? XD
> 
> I remember once seeing a post where someone said Vivienne would be the only mage Fenris would ever like since she supports the Circle, and I was like "uhhh WELLL ACTUALLY". Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinions, and my Fenris obviously has a softer stance on mages due to his experiences with mageHawke. To paraphrase a common piece of wisdom in the Solas fandom, "my Fenris is not your Fenris."
> 
> [Feel free to reach out on Tumblr ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for further discussion!


	7. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Group banter, Baewall, and plot! I hope you guys like this nice long-ish chapter! :)

“I think he’ll get a tan. He’s got that sort of complexion,” Hawke said.

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Nah. Freckles, see? Baldy head’ll be a mass of freckles in two shakes, you’ll see.”

Hawke shook her head. “Trust me, you didn’t see how pale he was a few weeks ago. He’s definitely turning a nice even shade of peachy pink. He’s already looking healthier from wandering around in the sun with us.”

Solas glanced over his shoulder at the two women. “Should I be disturbed that my head is of such interest to the two of you?” he said flatly.

“Oh Solas, we’re only discussing your lovely bald head because we care,” Hawke said. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Varric chuckled while Cassandra sighed, and Fenris couldn’t blame either of them for their reactions. He knew Cassandra would prefer to focus on the serious tasks ahead of them. But Hawke and Sera’s teasing of Solas was reminiscent of the kind of tomfoolery that Fenris used to witness while wandering through Kirkwall with Hawke and Isabela and Anders, and the familiarity of it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. 

Sera made a retching sound. “That’s _not_ why we’re talking about his baldy baldness,” she interjected. 

“Allow me to put your minds at ease, then,” Solas said. “You have no need to worry about whether I will tan or freckle. I use a subtle type of magic to protect myself from the sun.” 

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Why? Elfroot lotion’s just as good.”

Solas shot her a knowing look. “And how do you suppose elfroot lotion has such protective effects?” 

Sera gaped at him for a second, then scowled. “There’s no magic in normal old elfroot lotion. You’re having me on.”

“I am not,” Solas said. “You may believe what you wish, however.” He turned around and continued along the grass-lined path.

Sera pouted at the back of his head. Then the two women returned to their whispering and giggling. 

Fenris shot Solas a suspicious look. “Does elfroot truly have magical properties?” he asked quietly. 

“The healing properties of elfroot are well-documented but unexplained,” Solas replied. “Like most herbs, its effects are known, but the manner by which they work remains unclear. This is not unlike most people’s understanding of magic. But as to whether elfroot actually taps the particular powers of the Fade…” He smirked slightly. “The answer is no.” 

Fenris grunted. He couldn’t quite decide whether to be amused that Solas was yanking Sera’s chain, or annoyed at the way Solas seemed to tie everything back to the Fade in one way or another. 

Varric sauntered up to walk alongside Cassandra. “So, Seeker,” he said. “You think we’ll have time to do any browsing around the shops once we get to Redcliffe? Or are you planning to jump straight down the Grand Enchanter’s throat when we arrive?”

Cassandra scowled at him. “You’re in favour of the recruiting the rebel mages, I see.”

“We are not going to this meeting to recruit the mages,” Fenris interrupted. “Not… necessarily.” 

“But it is a possibility?” Hawke said from behind them. She trotted forward and wiggled her way between Fenris and Cassandra. “We wouldn’t be going to Redcliffe if it wasn’t a possibility, right?”

Fenris gave her a flat look. “We are going to Redcliffe because _you_ insisted.”

She tilted her head. “Ah yes. That was me, wasn’t it?” She treated Fenris to a winning smile.

Fenris rolled his eyes. Cassandra pursed her lips slightly, but didn’t speak. Fenris knew Cassandra wasn’t thrilled about the Redcliffe meeting. She was rightly concerned about the Lord Seeker’s activities, and her investigations in Kirkwall seemed to have left her with a certain mistrust of the rebel mages’ intentions. But when Hawke had demanded why they weren’t meeting with the mages to at least talk, Fenris had been unable to refute her logic. 

“The mages offered to help,” Hawke had argued. “That’s more than the Templars did. And come on, if you could agree to meet with that Vivienne woman, the least we can do is meet with this Fiona person too.”

Disgruntled though Fenris might be to admit it, she wasn’t wrong. He would be a hypocrite if he didn’t investigate this offer of help. Besides, they needed to come back to the Hinterlands anyway. Leliana had heard tell of a Grey Warden in the countryside not far from Redcliffe Farms, and unbeknownst to anyone except Varric, Hawke and Fenris had a personal stake in wanting to find a Grey Warden: they were secretly hoping that this Warden Blackwall would be able to clarify the reasons for Stroud’s prolonged silence.

So it was that they found themselves trampling across the seemingly endless landscape of the Hinterlands yet again.

They made their way to the upper lake camp, close to where Warden Blackwall had recently been spotted. Varric and Hawke began a witty back-and-forth of playful insults as they were wont to do, with Sera’s frequent interjections and Solas’s occasional deadpan additions as well. Fenris listened with half an ear, but his thoughts were mostly on the Templars.

If the Templars were using red lyrium, the situation was more dire than they’d anticipated. Fenris couldn’t stop thinking about something the Lord Seeker had said: _the Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages._ It struck him as ominously similar to Meredith’s zealous ravings right at the end. Furthermore, there had been ample red lyrium in the destroyed remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. If red lyrium had been involved in the ritual there, and the Templars were using it now, then that would likely mean…

Cassandra’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “You seem concerned,” she said. “Are you worried about this meeting in Redcliffe?” 

He shook his head. “No. Well, not at this moment.”

Her stern expression sharpened slightly, but Fenris shook his head again. “It is nothing. Speculation,” he said vaguely. “Not worth sharing right now.” He suspected she wouldn’t like the direction of his thoughts, and he was loathe to jump to conclusions about the Templars and the murder of the Divine when they couldn’t be certain about the involvement of red lyrium in the first place. 

Though Fenris couldn’t imagine what else would explain such a drastic change in the Lord Seeker’s behaviour. 

Cassandra nodded in acquiescence, and they climbed the short hill that led to the small lake just north of where their camp was located. As they reached the edge of the lake, Hawke placed a hand on Fenris’s forearm and pointed. “There, by that cabin. Do you think one of those fellows is our man?”

Fenris peered across the lake. There was a group of four men standing by the cabin in question. Three of the men seemed to be listening to the fourth, an older bearded man who appeared to be training them. 

Fenris shrugged. “We might as well find out,” he said. 

Hawke nodded, then led the way around the lake. As they approached the group of men, it became clear that the bearded man was, indeed, instructing the others. 

“Remember how to carry your shields,” he announced. “You’re not hiding, you’re holding.”

Before Fenris could speak, Hawke sauntered toward the bearded man. “Are you Warden Blackwall?” she asked. She gave him a lingering once-over. “Warden Beardwall, more like.”

The man looked at Hawke and lifted his eyebrows - in clear appreciation, Fenris noted with a hint of disgruntlement. “How do you know my name?” he asked her. His approving expression sank into a frown as the rest of their little group drew closer. “Who are all of you? Who sent-” 

_THUNK._ Hawke flinched and gasped, and Fenris’s heart rate spiked. A shield was suddenly an inch from her face: Blackwall’s shield, which he’d lifted just in time to block an arrow that had been shot at her head. 

Fenris bolted toward her and grabbed her arm. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he hissed. “Hawke-” 

A group of bandits burst noisily from behind a nearby group of trees, and Blackwall frowned at Fenris and the rest of their group. “Help, or get out,” he snapped. “We’re dealing with these idiots first. Conscripts, here they come!” He waved to the three younger men he’d been instructing, then threw himself into the fray. 

Sera released a maniacal cackle. An instant later, Fenris felt the cool tingle of Solas’s barrier as it settled over them, and Cassandra bolted past them to join the fight. Fenris, meanwhile, glared at Hawke. “You need to be more careful,” he scolded. “If he hadn’t blocked that arrow…” 

“I wasn’t being careless! I didn’t know those bandits were there,” Hawke protested. “Besides, he _did_ block the arrow. I’m fine, I promise.” She squeezed his hand, then pulled her staff from her back. “Now let’s destroy these idiots like our new bearded friend suggested.” She extended her palm and shot a bolt of ice at a bandit archer.

Fenris gritted his teeth in frustration, then joined in the fight. The bandits were obviously amateurs, and Fenris didn’t even need to bring his lyrium scars to life to deal with them; they were no match for the combined strength of himself, Cassandra and Blackwall, particularly with the (albeit amateurish) help from Blackwall’s conscripts. Combined with the relentless shower of projectiles from Varric and Sera, as well as Solas and Hawke’s magical blasts, their foes barely lasted three minutes. 

When the bandits were all dead, Fenris racked his greatsword on his back and cautiously approached the Grey Warden. The bearded warrior was frowning at his charges with folded arms, but his words were approving. “Good work, conscripts. Take back what they stole, and go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

Fenris raised one quizzical eyebrow as the young men drifted away to loot the bandits. Blackwall had called them conscripts; if that was the case, why was he letting them leave?

Blackwall curiously eyed Fenris’s armour. “You’re no farmer,” he said. “Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

“My name is Fenris. We represent the Inquisition,” Fenris said, with a wave to the others. “I heard the Grey Wardens have gone missing across both Ferelden and Orlais. I’ve been told to ask if their disappearance is linked to the murder of the Divine.”

Blackwall’s eyebrows jumped high on his forehead, and Fenris heard Hawke’s soft chuckle. A moment later, she sidled up beside him and shot Blackwall an apologetic smile. “What my devilishly handsome partner _means_ to say is that… well, the timing is unfortunate. People are asking questions.” She shrugged and blinked innocently. “Maybe you can put some of those questions to rest?” 

Blackwall frowned. ‘Maker’s balls,” he said softly. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t…” He trailed off, and his eyes darted between Fenris and Hawke for a moment before he shook his head. “No, you’re asking, so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know they disappeared,” he said. “But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. “You didn’t know your entire order had disappeared?”

Blackwall folded his hands in front of his belt in an at-ease position. “I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting.” He shrugged. “Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.” He jerked his chin dismissively at the dead bandits on the ground. “These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me.” 

He glanced at his temporary conscripts. “Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are,” he said quietly.

“Hmm, I can see that,” Hawke said with a nod. “Stroud is certainly inspiring. He gives me terrible mustache envy every time I see him.” She sighed wistfully. 

Blackwall gave her a bemused little smile, and Fenris shot her a chiding look before turning back to Blackwall. “We have a friend among the Wardens,” he said quietly. “A man named Jean-Marc Stroud. The last we heard, he was en route to Weisshaupt. Have the others gone there as well?”

Blackwall scratched his beard. “I can’t really say. If there was some new directive, it looks like it got lost on the way. My job was to recruit on my own, and I planned to stay that way for months. Years.”

Fenris wilted in disappointment. So much for getting some clarity about Stroud’s uncharacteristic silence. Leliana was going to be disappointed as well.

Hawke _tsk_ ed. “Shame. Well, thanks anyway, I suppose.” She shrugged at Fenris, then turned away. 

Fenris nodded to Blackwall in a brief farewell, then turned away as well to follow Hawke back to the others. A moment later, however, Blackwall caught up to them. 

“Hold a moment, Inquisition,” he said. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe… maybe you need me.”

Fenris frowned. “What of your Warden duties?”

“And what are you offering us, exactly?” Hawke asked. “Aside from your mass of rippling muscles, of course.”

“To save the fucking world, if pressed,” Blackwall said. He took a small step closer to them, and his expression was eager. “Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is. And besides,” he added, “there are treaties. Ancient treaties that give Wardens the right to take what we need and who we need.”

Fenris recoiled slightly. “Treaties?” he said suspiciously. “This is part of the conscription you mentioned?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of these treaties. Having the right take what you needed could too easily slide into taking what you _wanted_ instead.

Blackwall tilted his head equivocally. “It’s… complicated,” he said. “Look, this isn’t a Blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honour the treaties. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people.”

Fenris studied him with narrowed eyes. The man looked alert and ready to act, like the consummate soldier, and his gaze was steady and earnest.

He glanced at Hawke, who was also studying Blackwall with folded arms. “Thoughts?” he asked her.

She studied Blackwall for a moment longer. “Save the fucking world, you say?” Then she smiled at Fenris and unfolded her arms. “Ah, why not? I like his style. And his big sword.” She winked at Blackwall.

Blackwall cleared his throat, and a hint of a smile lifted the corners of mustache. Fenris pursed his lips slightly, then shrugged. “Welcome to the Inquisition, then,” he said. 

Blackwall gave them a small bow. “Thank you, serrah. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.”

“That’s a certainty,” Hawke drawled playfully. “You could really use a haircut and a shave.”

He smiled, and his posture loosened a bit. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I forgot to ask your name.”

“Oh!” Hawke smacked her forehead, then held out her hand to shake. “Silly me. I’m Rynne. Rynne Hawke. But everyone calls me-”

“The Champion of Kirkwall?” Blackwall blurted. His eyes widened as he took her outstretched hand. “Maker’s balls. I know of you.” He looked at Fenris with a respectful expression. “Then you must be the escaped Tevinter slave. The warrior.” 

Fenris grunted a terse assent. He was beginning to feel a bit peevish. He couldn’t decide which reputation he liked less: ‘escaped Tevinter slave’, or ‘Herald of Andraste’. Furthermore, Blackwall was still holding Hawke’s outstretched hand. 

“Wow,” Hawke said to Fenris. “Even loner Wardens who live in the woods have heard of us?”

Blackwall chuckled. “I may live in the woods, but I haven’t got ears full of dirt. But… If you’re the Champion, that means you single-handedly defeated a qunari leader.” His eyes were practically shining as he stared at her. “And… the explosion at the Chantry? Did you-?”

“She had nothing to do with that,” Fenris snapped.

“Well, no, not directly,” Hawke hedged. “But I do support the mage rebellion.”

Blackwall nodded an acknowledgement. “Well, my lady Hawke, it is an honour.” He bent over her hand and gallantly kissed her knuckles, much to Fenris’s displeasure. Then he finally released Hawke’s hand and bowed more deeply to Fenris. “Serrah Fenris-”

“It is just ‘Fenris’,” he said brusquely.

Blackwall nodded respectfully. “Fenris. Lady Hawke. I’m looking forward to working with you both.”

“Mm,” Fenris muttered. Then he pointed to the south. “Go to the camp just below this precipice. Have them send a raven to Leliana at Haven, to tell them you’ve joined our ranks. Then head on back to Haven and report to Commander Cullen. We will meet you there.”

Blackwall nodded once more - a brisk nod that was evocative of a sharp salute. “Thanks again. I will see you soon.” He sheathed his sword, then strode away in the direction of the upper lake camp.

Hawke and Fenris watched him go. “He seems sweet,” Hawke remarked. 

Fenris grunted. “A little too sweet, perhaps.”

Hawke grinned, then leaned into his chest and batted her eyelashes up at him. “Oh, Fenris. You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

“I am neither cute nor jealous,” he groused. 

Hawke laughed merrily, and Fenris smirked at her cheeky face. Then Cassandra, Varric, and Solas wandered over. 

“A new recruit?” Cassandra said approvingly to Fenris. “That’s very good.”

Fenris shook his head. “Not my doing this time. Hawke’s influence, it seems.” He raised one eyebrow at his dark-haired partner.

She shrugged innocently. “I can hardly be blamed for my sparkling wit and irresistible beauty, can I?” 

Cassandra huffed. “Not to mention your ceaselessly humble nature.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her dry delivery, and Hawke gaped at her in delighted surprise. 

Varric smiled. “Seeker, do my ears deceive me?” he said. “Was that an incredibly sarcastic dig?”

“It was!” Hawke crowed. “Either that, or I’m having a stroke.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “And that’s the last time I try to join in with your foolish back-and-forth.”

Hawke linked her arm with Cassandra’s. “Oh no, Cass, keep joking around with us! I might just fall in love with you.”

Cassandra snorted as they made their way east in the direction of Redcliffe Village. “You can’t fall in love with me. Varric would have to change his book.”

Varric chuckled. “Cassandra, I didn’t know you were a fan,” he drawled.

“I am not,” Cassandra snapped. “I am simply… I… everyone knows of your book.”

“It’s true,” Hawke interjected. “Everyone does know your book, Varric. They’ve taken to doing dramatic readings of it at the tavern in the evenings.” 

“And I wonder whose idea that was,” Fenris drawled. 

“It wasn’t mine!” Hawke protested. “Honestly. I’m not _that_ arrogant. If you want to know who encouraged them to do funny voices for all of us, though…”

She shot Fenris a tiny wink, and he smiled at her, but with more fondness than amusement. When Hawke had heard about the evening readings of _The Tale of the Champion_ at Fliss’s tavern, she had indeed waded in and turned the sessions into a farce rather than a serious event. Fenris knew she’d mainly done it to try and mitigate the uncomfortable reputation that he was growing as the so-called Herald of Andraste. But there was another reason as well - a reason that Cassandra wasn’t aware of, since she didn’t know Hawke very well: beneath her cheeky bravado, Hawke was one of the most humble people Fenris had ever known, to the point of being self-effacing at times. Despite her incessant flirting and her friendly overtures to almost everyone who crossed their path, Hawke was just as uncomfortable with her fame as Fenris was. 

“The popularity of the tale is understandable,” Solas said mildly. “A hero prevailing over the odds, standing up for justice when all is stacked against her. It is a story that many are taking comfort from in these troubled times, I’m sure.” 

Hawke smiled and linked her free arm with his. “Why Solas, I didn’t know you were such an admirer of mine.” 

He shrugged and allowed her to tug him along. “Every war has its heroes,” he said. He glanced over at Fenris. “Only time will tell what sort of heroes this war will yield.”

Fenris frowned. He could never quite shake the feeling that Solas was studying him for some reason. “If we’re lucky, we will fix this problem before there’s a need for any heroes,” he said.

“Wow. Is that optimism I hear? From you?” Varric teased. 

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow at Varric. “Feel free to call it that, if it comforts you.”

“Hey, has anyone seen Sera?” Hawke suddenly asked. “Where did she go?”

“She said something about lizards, then ran away,” Solas replied.

Fenris huffed in amusement. “Sounds promising.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “Trouble is what it sounds like.”

Varric chuckled. “We could probably use more of that kid’s kind of trouble. Lighten the mood a little.” 

“That’s what you think, until you find a sign saying ‘kick me’ pinned to the rear of your armour,” Cassandra said.

Hawke’s face transformed into a picture of absolute delight. “She did that to you?” she gasped.

“No,” Solas said flatly. “She did that to me.”

Hawke and Varric burst into laughter, and Fenris chuckled. And at long last, Cassandra smiled. 

Hawke gasped. “A smile from the lovely Seeker! It’s brighter and more beautiful than the sun!” 

Cassandra scoffed and rubbed her mouth. “Hawke, do be quiet.” 

The lively conversation continued as they made their way east toward the Crossroads. Sera eventually bounced back to join them, making the conversation even goofier, and for a short while, Fenris was almost able to forget his troubles in the wake of the group’s cheerful chatter.

But as they moved through the settlement at the Crossroads, the residents and refugees clamoured around. They thanked the Inquisition for their help and asked for more, and they begged Fenris for his blessings on behalf of Andraste. Their attention felt like ants crawling across his skin, and every request for aid felt like a stone in his belly. By the time they passed through the Crossroads, they’d collected another handful of tasks, and Fenris’s cheerful mood had melted back into the constant state of tension that he couldn’t seem to escape ever since he’d grudgingly agreed to join the Inquisition all those weeks ago.

Hawke and Varric segued back into an easy banter while Solas and Cassandra fell into some kind of quiet discussion. Sera popped between the four of them to alternately hassle Solas and snicker dirtily with Hawke. But Fenris couldn’t focus on any of their conversations anymore. 

_Look for a healer in Redcliffe Village,_ he thought. That, at least, was an errand they could easily tag onto their already-planned visit. But the report of bandits along the east road needed investigating, too. And even after this mage meeting, the tasks didn’t stop: they needed to go to the Storm Coast to investigate that qunari-led mercenary group that Cremisius Aclassi had mentioned, and the suspicious Tevinter mercenaries that his group had spotted on the coastline. 

That offer for aid in particular had been… odd, to say the least, and Fenris needed time to process the strangeness of it. A soporati who willingly followed a qunari? But Cremisius wasn’t a qunari convert. And the way he’d spoken of his leader was not the way most people spoke of qunari. If this Iron Bull had taken an individual name for himself, then he didn’t sound very qunari, either. There was most certainly a story there, and that thought alone - that there was yet another mystery to untangle - made Fenris feel tired. 

All of this was on top of the overarching need to investigate the Templars. The pile of problems was growing, expanding and evolving almost like a corrupt mass of red lyrium itself, and if Fenris thought too hard about it-

A slender body slammed into Fenris’s back with a raucous cackle, and he stumbled slightly before righting himself. “Is there something I can help you with?” he said flatly. 

“Nah,” Sera chirped. “Just checkin’ you’re alive, yeh? So quiet and broody all the time.” 

“I’m conserving my energy,” he told her. “You should try it sometime.”

She blew a raspberry. “ _Pthb!_ No thanks. Too much to do. Did you know you can fit five lizards into a Fereldan helmet with room to spare?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “I did not know that, no. Should I ask how or why _you_ know that?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Sera said. She shot a very shifty look at the back of Solas’s head, then ran away again.

Fenris smirked as her unruly blonde head disappeared over a hill, but his amusement was quickly subsumed by unease. The worries spun through his mind like rats in a barrel: _refugees, soldiers, mercenaries, mages, Templars, qunari, Hawke, the mark on my blasted hand…_

When Hawke gently took his hand, he flinched. 

“What?” he blurted. He looked around at their surroundings, then met her gaze. “We’re almost at Redcliffe Village. I hope you-”

“Fenris,” she said quietly. “I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to listen.” 

Her face was deadly serious, and it sent an instantaneous spike of anxiety through his chest. He glanced briefly at the others; they had somehow drawn ahead of him and Hawke by about twenty paces. He hadn’t realized he was walking so slowly. 

He met Hawke’s coppery eyes once more. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded.

She gazed steadily at him and squeezed his hand. “You can do this.”

He stared at her with rising confusion and worry. “Do what?”

“Everything they’re asking you to do. Recruiting people and helping people and closing the Breach and all.” She widened her eyes insistently. “You can do this, Fenris.”

He exhaled slowly, then rubbed his face. “What makes you so sure?” he said quietly. “I have never done anything like this before. _You_ are the sociable one. The one who is suited to this type of task. Not that I want this for you,” he added hastily. “But this is not… I am not meant for this. This… decision-making business.” He almost said _leadership business_ , but he couldn’t let the words leave his tongue. Despite the mark on his hand and the blasphemous title he’d been unwittingly given, no one in the Inquisition had formally asked him to be their leader, and he desperately wanted to keep it that way. 

Hawke’s eyes were soft, but her words were firm. “You really think I was so much better equipped to be the Champion of Kirkwall?” she said. “Running around saving the apostates and investigating the bloody Templars and killing the Arishok and all that shit? You know I wasn’t prepared for that. I almost died-”

“I do not need to be reminded of that,” Fenris hissed. 

“Then let me remind you of something Sebastian said years ago,” Hawke said. “He invited you to go back to Starkhaven with him, back before he decided to be a precious altar boy. He said you should go help command his army. Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” Fenris gritted. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Why do you think he asked you that?” Hawke said. 

“It was pity,” Fenris said. “Nothing more.” But even as he said it, he knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Sebastian may have pitied him at first, but their friendship had grown more genuine over time, and Sebastian was not the type to flatter unnecessarily.

Hawke tilted her head, and Fenris scowled at the softness in her expression. “It’s because you’re a natural leader,” she said firmly. “You’re resourceful and you’re smart. You can be persuasive when you want to be. And… bossy when you need to be. Awfully bossy, sometimes.”

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes. Then Hawke took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Listen to me,” she said quietly. “Cassandra already sees you as the leader. Solas defers to you. Varric does too, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

Fenris shook his head. This was ridiculous. He grasped her wrists to pull her hands away. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Varric doesn’t see me as a leader.”

“He does,” Hawke insisted. “And the others too - Cullen and Josie and Leliana. They won’t make a move to approach the mages or the Templars until you tell them what you want to do.”

Fenris pried her hands away from his face and took a step back from her. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. 

“Because you need to hear it,” Hawke said fiercely. “Everything they’re making you do? They’re asking _you_ to do it for a reason. And they’re not wrong. They are not wrong to think you’re capable of leading this bloody organization.”

Fenris glared at her. He was breathing hard, and the anxiety in his chest was roiling into anger: Familiar, easy, comforting anger.

“So you want me to be here,” he accused. “After everything you suffered in Kirkwall, with all that unwanted responsibility, you _want_ me to run this blasted Inquisition.”

“You know that’s not true,” she retorted. “But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter what I want-”

He grabbed her arms. “Stop saying that!” he shouted. “It does matter!”

“It doesn’t!” Hawke yelled back. “Not when things in all of bloody Thedas are this bad.” She lowered her voice. “We can’t run from this, Fenris. Even if we wanted to. As long as that fucking mark is on your hand, we’re tied to the Inquisition, whether we like it or not.”

Her voice was shaking. Fenris stared into her bright copper eyes, those eyes that were equally full of fear and faith: faith in _him_ , in his supposed ability to be a leader. He hated that she was forcing this reality down his throat. She was forcing him to look at the mantle of responsibility that was being thrust at him, and she was telling him he was capable of handling it.

It was ludicrous. She had no idea what she was talking about. Except… Hawke knew him better than anyone. She knew the weight of this kind of duty better than anyone. If Hawke thought this was something he could do - that he had no choice but to do… 

He glared at her fierce and lovely face. He was angry and fucking _scared_ , and painfully grateful that she was standing here beside him. 

He reached out and slid his glowing left palm around the back of her neck to pull her close. A moment later, she was enfolded in his tight embrace, her arms firm around his back and her face tucked against his neck. 

He squeezed her hard and breathed in the sandalwood scent of her hair. Then he pressed his lips to her ear. “Together,” he told her. “We are doing this together, Hawke. I am not doing this without you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course, you handsome fool. You’re not going anywhere without me.” 

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, and for a long minute - longer than they could afford - they simply clutched each other tightly, standing in the middle of the road in the Hinterlands. 

Eventually Hawke heaved a heavy sigh that Fenris felt through his chestplate. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get this bloody meeting over with already, right?”

He allowed her to slide out of his arms, and they picked up their pace to catch up with the others. “I will remind you that it was your idea to do this,” he said. 

“I know, I know,” she sighed. She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Serves you right for listening to me, no?”

Fenris squeezed her hand as they drew level with the others. Varric raised his eyebrows. “Everything all right?” he said quietly. 

Fenris waved a hand to dismiss his concerned expression. “Fine,” he said. He jerked his chin at the last stretch of the road to Redcliffe’s gates. “We should move on-”

“Hold!” A stern but scared-sounding voice called out. “Don’t try to… dammit, just find cover and I’ll find reinforcements!” 

They all looked up to see a bloodied Inquisition soldier running in their direction. Her eyebrows rose as she spotted their group, then rose even further as her eyes fell on Fenris’s glowing left palm. 

“You’re - it’s - the Herald of Andraste!” she blurted. She dipped her head in a swift bow. “Can’t stop, my lord, there’s a disaster up ahead-”

“What is it?” Cassandra demanded. 

“It’s a rift, but it’s… I don’t know, Lady Seeker, it’s difficult to explain-” 

“It’s all right,” Hawke said to the soldier. “We’ll look into it.” Her voice was soothing, but Fenris could see the anxiety in the tilt of her eyebrows. 

The soldier jerked another quick bow in their direction, then pelted off the way they’d come. Fenris turned to the others. “Ready?” he said.

They all nodded and readied their weapons, bows and staves and swords coming free from their grips. “Let’s go,” Hawke said. 

They bolted onward the gates to Redcliffe Village, and as soon as Fenris spotted the rift, he realized what had shaken the soldier so badly: it wasn't a particularly large rift, but it was… odd. More unsettling with the average rift, with an unfamiliar crackle of energy that lifted the fine hairs at the back of Fenris’s neck.

He slowed and peered at the rift with rising concern. It was the same sickly green as always, but it was throwing down… auras, for lack of a better word. Like clouds of verdant reflective mist that seemed to shimmer eerily in the air. 

He glanced at Solas, and was further alarmed to find the elvhen mage glaring at the rift. 

“What do you make of this?” Fenris asked.

Solas pointed at one of the hazy patches of mist. “It seems to be altering the time around it,” he said. 

Fenris’s eyes widened. “It’s altering _time?_ ” he demanded. He peered more closely at the wavering green mist. It flickered strangely, almost as though he was looking at it through a rippling pool of water. 

“Well? What’re we waiting for?” Sera demanded. Her voice was strained with nerves. “We kicking demon bollocks or what?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said. “Let’s go.” Then he led the charge toward the demons who were roaming and floating around the strange rift.

The vibrant magic of Hawke’s barrier settled over his shoulders, and he immediately engaged a tall gangly demon surrounded by a pack of wraiths. Cassandra swiftly joined him, and they fought the demons in a concerted effort, but Fenris quickly noticed something odd: half of the strikes they landed seemed to become… undone. 

Fenris curled his lip in disgust and confusion. What in the Void was going on here? He watched as Cassandra lopped off the gangly demon’s arm, and his eyes widened in surprise when its arm seemed to simply reappear in the blink of an eye. It didn’t grow back - nothing so gradual as that. The limb simply reappeared, hale and whole, as though Cassandra had never cut it away. 

“Fenris!” Solas’s sharp voice cut through the demons’ screams, and Fenris turned to look. Solas spun his staff in a graceful magical dance as he and Hawke attacked a pair of wraiths, and Fenris noted with growing bemusement that the wraiths that _they_ were attacking were dying and dissipating as expected.

“Focus on the rift!” Solas yelled. “The demons will not be defeated until you close the rift.” 

“Right,” Fenris muttered. He glanced at Cassandra, who nodded wordlessly to confirm that she was all right, then he pelted toward the sickly green rift. 

He raised his left hand and pressed his mind into his palm. As the tendrils of the rift sank into his hand, Fenris frowned. This rift truly felt different from the others so far: oddly nebulous and unstable, reminding him strangely of trying to contain an unruly mabari on a leash.

He gritted his teeth and concentrated hard. A long minute later, the rift disappeared with the usual ear-popping rush of sound. 

He shook out his tingling palm, then turned to Solas. “The demons we were trying to defeat. They kept… regenerating. Why is that?”

Solas pursed his lips and frowned at the blackened corpse of a larger demon that he, Hawke, and Sera had jointly taken down. “It was the time disruption I mentioned,” he said. “The Veil is weaker here than in Haven, and not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen.” His eyes roamed slowly over the remains of their battle. “The demons you were fighting were standing in a cloud of the unusual green mist thrown off by that rift. I believe it was warping the passage of time around the demons, allowing them to regain their limbs and undo their wounds.” 

“Well, shit,” Hawke and Varric said together. They smirked at each other, and Hawke elbowed Varric in the head. 

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Don’t like that,” she announced. “Timey things _and_ demony things? No bloody thanks. I’d rather fill it with arrows and keep ‘em there.” 

“I must agree,” Solas said. “This certainly requires further investigation.”

Fenris scowled and rubbed his forehead. Yet another damned thing that needed to be investigated.

“Thank the Maker it’s over!” a soldier’s voice called out from the other side of the gate. “Open the gates! The Inquisition is here!”

With a sonorous metallic clang, the grated gates to Redcliffe began to lift, and Fenris and the others all made their way through the large stone archway. They were immediately met by one of Leliana’s scouts. 

He saluted briskly. “Herald of Andraste! Lady Seeker, Lady Hawke…” He nodded politely to Varric and Sera and Solas. “We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here is expecting us.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows in surprise and not a little exasperation. “Excuse me?” he said flatly. 

“What do you mean, no one is expecting us?” Cassandra asked sharply. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

The scout shook his head. “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone.”

Fenris and Cassandra glanced at each other, and Fenris could tell she was thinking the same as he: this was highly unusual and suspicious. 

Varric voiced their shared thoughts. “Well, this doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” 

“What do you mean? It sounds perfectly normal and legitimate,” Hawke said casually. “Nobody expects the Inquisition.” She leaned her elbow on Sera’s shoulder with a smirk.

Fenris frowned in concern at the tightness of her smile. Then a young elven man with a staff on his back hurried over to join them. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies,” he panted. “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly-”

“What?” Fenris barked. Surely he’d misheard. “What did you say?” 

The young mage stopped short, and his pleasant expression faded into wariness as he met Fenris’s gaze. “M-Magister Alexius has not yet arrived. You can speak with-”

“ _Kaffas. Venhedis fasta vass,_ ” Fenris swore. He dragged a hand through his hair, then looked at the young mage once more. “You mean Gereon Alexius from Tevinter?”

“Fenris?” Hawke said tentatively, but Fenris ignored her to glare at the young elven mage, who looked distinctly scared now. 

“Yes, my lord,” the mage stammered. “Magister Alexius from the Tevinter Imperium. Redcliffe is under his command.” 

“ _What?_ That is impossible,” Cassandra snapped. “Where is Arl Teagan?”

“And the mages?” Hawke asked anxiously. “What’s happened to the rebel mages?”

The young mage’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His eyes kept darting from Fenris to the others and back to Fenris again. “I… It would be best that you speak with former Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he said anxiously. “She awaits you at the Gull and Lantern.”

“The Grand Enchanter,” Fenris sneered. “Has she truly forgotten that she lured us here? Or is it all just some Tevinter ploy?”

The young mage cowered away from him, and Hawke stepped forward. “Thank you,” she said firmly to the younger elf. “We’ll speak with Fiona soon, all right? Let her know we’re on our way.”

The young mage nodded, and with one last terrified look at Fenris, he ran away along the path to the village.

Hawke turned to face him. “Fenris,” she said softly. 

He waved his hand in an angry gesture. “No,” he said forcefully. “Do not think to placate me. Magisters from the Imperium, here? They’re involved in this, with the rebel mages?” He began to pace. “Of course they are. In fact, I should not be surprised. Of course the blasted mages would reach out to the Imperium-”

“You don’t know that,” Hawke interrupted. Her voice was calm but firm. “You don’t know that the rebel mages are joined with the Imperium. All we know is that they’ve taken over the village.”

“They cannot do that,” Cassandra said forcefully. “We must find out what has happened to the Arl.” 

“Who’s this Giggly Alexa person, anyway?” Sera said. 

“He is one of the ruling mages in Tevinter, and a colleague of my former master,” Fenris snapped. “Perhaps he wishes to join Danarius in the ignominy of an unmarked grave.”

Sera stared at him with wide eyes. For once, it seemed that she had no snarky reply. 

Fenris turned away from her and back toward Hawke. “I will not negotiate with magisters,” he said. “I would sooner peel the scars from my skin than negotiate with blasted magisters.”

“And no one is asking you to,” Hawke said. “But we should probably find out what the Vints are doing here at all.” 

Her tone was calm but pointed, and Fenris took a deep breath and met her gaze. Her amber eyes were wide and insistent, and it finally occurred to him what she was thinking about. 

_Tevinter magisters. Corypheus._ Alexius’s presence was a lead, a person to interrogate about whether Corypheus was involved in all this, and they couldn’t afford to _not_ speak with him. 

_Kaffas,_ he thought. He buried his face in his hands, then exhaled through his lyrium-lined fingers. Everyone was silent for a moment. 

Then Varric spoke. “All right, elf. What do you want to do next?”

Fenris closed his eyes. His anger was still there, swirling in his veins like blood in bathwater, but it was being dampened by his overwhelming sense of… well, being overwhelmed. 

He inhaled deeply, then dropped his hands. “We speak to the Grand Enchanter,” he growled. “She will explain what the magister is doing here. We will proceed based on what she tells us.”

Cassandra and Sera nodded. Varric murmured in agreement, and they started along the path into Redcliffe Village. Hawke was quiet as she walked beside him, but her fingers were warm and soft as she reached over and took his hand. 

“Are you all right?” she said, very quietly. “I mean. I know this isn’t all right, but... well. You know what I mean.”

Fenris shook his head slightly. “I do not like this,” he replied. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now. We will deal with this now and… talk about it later.” 

She nodded. Then she squeezed his fingers. “Together,” she whispered. 

Fenris nodded in return. “Yes,” he said. 

She smiled at him, then released his hand and trotted forward to catch up with Cassandra and Varric and Sera. 

As Hawke walked away, Solas drew level with Fenris, and they walked together in silence for a while.

Eventually Solas’s calm voice broke the quiet. “The magisters hold no power over you now,” he said. “You should not have had to fight for your freedom, but the freedom you won is yours, and none can take that from you.”

Solas was looking at him. Fenris could feel his slate-grey eyes steady on his face.

Fenris took a deep breath and kept his eyes on Hawke’s slender back. “I know that,” he said. 

“I know you do,” Solas said. “Do not forget it, Fenris.”

Fenris clenched his jaw. His tongue was sharp with the desire to tell Solas to mind his own damned business. What did Solas know about being a blasted slave? He didn’t know what it was to be utterly lacking in autonomy. Solas didn’t know the deadening hopelessness that weighed more than any shackles ever could.

But Solas’s gaze was neutral rather than pitying, and his voice was calm and even. For some reason, Fenris swallowed the urge to snap at him. 

He nodded brusquely instead, and Solas returned his gaze to the path ahead. They continued along the dirt road in silence, and Fenris mentally prepared himself for the new plethora of problems that the meeting with Fiona was sure to bring.

He had little hope that this meeting would go well. But he could hope for one thing, at least: that the problems to come could be solved with the easy swing of a heavy blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Join me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to talk Fenris! xo


	8. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers: you guys' comments give me so much life and love. I'm so thrilled and honoured by your interest in this fic and your thoughtful comments! xoxo

Hawke shook her head as they turned away from Connor and made their way back along the docks. “‘Signed into servitude’. I suppose that’s the Tevene term for ‘alliance’?” She scoffed in disgust. “It isn’t a real partnership. The mages are being made to serve Alexius!” 

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t their choice,” Fenris said. 

“No,” she insisted. “Something is off. When Fiona met us in Val Royeaux, she didn’t say anything about Tevinter.” 

“Of course she didn’t,” he retorted. “We would never have listened to her if she had.” 

“But why offer an alliance with us if she already had one with the Vints?” Hawke argued. “It makes no logical sense.” 

Fenris pursed his lips. “That is true,” he admitted. 

They made their way up the stairs in the direction of the Gull and Lantern. Fenris kept his left hand closed in a fist and tried hard to ignore the whispers and stares of Redcliffe’s residents. He breathed slowly and deeply as they walked toward the tavern, trying hard to smooth out the tension that held his shoulders taut, but it was difficult. The idea of being in the same city as a magister again… 

Fenris had not spoken to anyone from the Imperium in years. Since Danarius’s death, the only Tevinters Fenris had seen in Kirkwall were the slavers that snuck through in search of straggling elves to abduct, and he and Hawke and the others had always dispatched them with swift efficiency. In the years that he and Hawke had been in hiding, he hadn’t seen any Tevinters at all. And now, completely unexpectedly, he was being forced to face not only a Tevinter, but a magister who knew him from his time under Danarius’s heel. 

Fenris knew that Alexius would recognize him. Danarius had always been very proud to show Fenris off to all of his competitors. Alexius had seen him guarding Danarius’s back as they walked through Minrathous, and he’d seen Fenris standing silently at Danarius’s side during the blasted banquets he would host for the other magisters. Alexius had witnessed Fenris at his worst: silenced and cowed, adorned with cursed lyrium and gold-plated cuffs around his wrists and neck. 

Fenris was not that bound and broken man anymore. He was nobody’s slave, and he never would be again. He knew how much his life had changed over the last thirteen years, and he’d grown to appreciate the path his life had taken: from deadened hopelessness to logic-defying rage, and gradually - painfully gradually - to a tentative hope for a better life, and eventually to a greater happiness than he’d ever imagined with Hawke by his side. 

There was nothing Alexius could do to take that away. Nothing Alexius could say would change the fact that Fenris had broken out of the Imperium and built a new life. And yet, beneath Fenris’s disgust and disdain for the magisters, there was a seed of something tremulous in his gut: a tiny hint of something cold and small, like a faded reflection of the way he’d felt when Danarius had taunted him in the Hanged Man so many years ago. 

It didn’t matter what Alexius thought of him. Like all the magisters, Alexius was a monster, corrupt with misbegotten power and undeserving of respect. But the very idea of being seen as Danarius’s Little Wolf again made Fenris feel itchy with discomfort.

“Fenris,” Cassandra said. 

He jolted slightly, then took a deep breath before he could inadvertently snap at her. “Yes?” he said. 

“How do you want us to approach this meeting?” she asked. 

Fenris looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I know what she means,” Hawke interjected. “She wants to know if we’re going to interrogate Fiona or sweet-talk her. Maybe a bit of both? A little good-guard, bad-guard routine?” 

Cassandra pursed her lips in annoyance, but her lack of retort only confirmed that Hawke’s interpretation was true. Fenris shook his head. “No,” he said. “No sweet-talking _or_ interrogating. We will simply… ask the Grand Enchanter for information.”

“Ah, right. Asking. Good to know,” Varric said. “I’ll get Bianca ready, then.” 

Fenris scowled at him, and Hawke gently kicked his foot. “Not helpful,” she stage-whispered.

Varric shrugged and widened his eyes. “What?” he said. “We do have a pretty clear record of conversations turning into, er, confrontations.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Only when the people we talk to deserve it.”

Fenris ignored their banter. “Someone should stand outside the tavern and keep guard,” he said. “Leliana’s people claim this place is safe, but I am not taking chances. Tevinters are like cockroaches: where there is one, there are many. I refuse to believe Alexius doesn’t have spies in every corner of this village.”

Solas spoke for the first time since entering Redcliffe. “I would like to come in and hear about the terms of this Tevinter alliance, if I may,” he said. 

“As would I,” Cassandra said. “I do not believe the Arl ceded these lands by choice.”

“All right,” Varric said affably. “Sera and I will keep an eye out. Right, Buttercup?” He tilted his head at Sera.

The gamine archer shrugged. “Ah, why not. Could use a little break from all this magey stuff, anyway.”

Fenris nodded his agreement, then looked at Hawke. “You are with me,” he said.

His delivery was more brusque than intended, but in Hawke’s eyes, he could see that she understood the question in his words. “You know I am,” she said.

Her face was serious, and her eyes were warm. Fenris drank her in for a moment, then took a steadying breath and shoved open the door to the Gull and Lantern. 

He swiftly scanned the room to get a sense of who was present. There was a bartender and a handful of people: rebel mages, from their robes and the staves that some of them held. Fiona was sitting alone at a table in the middle of the room, and after checking the doors and corners and finding no obvious-looking foes, Fenris led Hawke, Solas and Cassandra over to Fiona’s table. 

She looked up, then rose to her feet at their approach. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she said. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Fenris studied her face. Her expression was completely neutral when she met his gaze: as neutral as though she was looking at a complete stranger. 

“You invited us here when we met in Val Royeaux,” he said. 

Fiona’s brows creased slightly. “Val Royeaux?” she said. “I’m… sorry, but you must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Cassandra folded her arms. “There is no mistake,” she said firmly. “While the Templars were leaving Val Royeaux, you approached us and asked us to meet you here.”

While Cassandra spoke, Fenris watched Fiona carefully. The Grand Enchanter’s expression was morphing slowly from pleasant neutrality to twisted confusion. 

“The Templars left Val Royeaux?” she asked. “Do you mean… they abandoned the Chantry?” 

Cassandra’s eyebrows jumped high on her forehead, and Fenris had to admit to equal surprise. How could Fiona be asking this? She’d said herself that she suspected the Lord Seeker of conspiring in Justinia’s death. She’d literally stood right beside them watching the Lord Seeker leading the Templars away. 

Hawke tutted. “Come on, you must remember,” she said. “A Templar punched a Chantry mother in the head. The Lord Seeker made a big cock-waving speech, then they all just left the city…” She trailed off and frowned at Fiona. “You honestly don’t remember?”

Fiona shook her head slowly. “That sounds… why does that sound so strange?” She rubbed her forehead, then lifted her face. “Regardless, it is irrelevant. Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.” She bowed her head. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Fenris frowned deeply. This woman was like a shadow of the one they’d met in Val Royeaux. She seemed so much less than the calm and confident mage who had boldly approached them and offered to ally with the Inquisition.

_That is what binding oneself to the magisters does to a person,_ he thought acidly. But as he examined Fiona’s undeniably sad expression, he couldn’t decide if his bitterness was toward Fiona for joining with Tevinter, or toward the magisters for making matters more complicated than they already were.

“An alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra demanded. “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

“This isn’t an alliance,” Hawke said firmly to Cassandra. “Indentured servitude? That’s not a fucking alliance. It’s…” She hesitated and glanced at Fenris for a moment before going on. “It’s slavery,” she finished. “That’s what this is.”

“I must agree,” Solas said. He was frowning at Fiona, but his expression was more sympathetic than angry. “I understand that you are afraid,” he said to her, “but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

Fenris turned to Solas and Hawke. “Indentured servitude is _not_ slavery if it was her choice,” he said forcefully.

Hawke scoffed in disbelief, but Fiona spoke again before Hawke could retort. “I had no choice but to make this bargain,” Fiona said. “All hope of peace died with Justinia, and we were losing this war. When the Templars attacked, and Magister Alexius offered his aid… I had no choice.” She took a deep breath, then lifted her chin. “I needed to save as many of my people as I could.”

Solas sighed quietly and bowed his head, and Hawke ran her fingers through her hair. “Fuck,” she said. 

Fenris continued to frown at Fiona, but his stomach was churning. The former Grand Enchanter looked both sad and defiant, and for some reason, a conversation Fenris had had with Anders many years ago - an argument, really - rose to the forefront of his mind. 

Anders had once asked him if he’d ever tried to kill himself, and Fenris had said no. _Some things are worse than slavery,_ he’d said. For some reason, as Fenris studied the mixture of hopelessness and resignation in Fiona’s face, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what she’d been thinking too, in her own misguided way. 

Fenris had chosen life as a slave over an easy death at his own hands. Fiona had chosen to sell her people to the magisters to avoid death at the hands of the Templars. In both cases, they’d chosen something terrible over something even worse.

The parallels were there. Tenuous and faint parallels, perhaps, but now that his mind had conjured them, they couldn’t be ignored.

The heavy creak of a wooden door broke the tense silence, and Fenris turned toward the tavern’s entrance as Alexius stepped inside.

The magister’s crowlike gaze skimmed the room before landing on Fenris’s face. For a tense, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other. 

Alexius’s gaze darted to Fenris’s left hand, and a slow smile stretched across his face as he slowly sauntered into the room. He glanced over his shoulder at a younger man who had followed him inside. “The rumours are true, then,” he said to the younger man, then turned back to face Fenris with a pleasant little smile. “An elf from Tevinter who survived the Fade. Very interesting.”

Fenris curled his lip. Before he could respond, Hawke stepped forward to stand beside him and folded her arms belligerently. “Enough with the bullshit,” she said loudly. “We know who you are. We know that _you_ know who Fenris is. So why don’t you just cut the shit and get to the part where you tell us what you’re doing here?” 

Fenris placed a placating hand on her wrist. “Alexius,” he grunted.

Alexius tilted his head in a polite greeting. “Fenris. You have kept your name, I see.”

Hawke growled at the subtle dig, and Fenris gently squeezed her wrist. For some reason, her anger on his behalf was making him feel calmer. 

He narrowed his eyes at Alexius. “What do you want with the rebel mages?” he said bluntly. 

Alexius folded his hands behind his back. “I am assisting them. When the Conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced the brutality of the Templars, who rushed to attack them. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did.” He glanced over Fenris’s shoulder at Fiona.

“It was certainly very timely,” Fiona said. 

Fenris looked at her. Her tone was neutral, but her eyebrows were creased in a faint frown.

He turned back to Alexius. “When exactly did this… alliance take place?” he asked.

“After that unfortunate incident at the Conclave,” Alexius said smoothly. “We came as swiftly as we could when we heard of our southern brethren’s plight.”

_He is dodging the question,_ Fenris thought. This was getting more suspicious by the minute. 

Cassandra took a small step forward. “What has happened to the Arl and his men?” she asked.

“The Arl of Redcliffe left the village,” Alexius said. 

Hawke scoffed. “Obviously. But where did they-”

Cassandra interrupted. “Arl Teagan did not abandon his lands during the Blight, even when they were under siege. I do not believe that he simply left!”

Alexius bowed his head in regret - fake regret, Fenris was sure. “There were tensions growing,” he said mildly. “I did not want an incident.”

“Incident,” Hawke snorted. “You mean you didn’t want them questioning your motives like we’re doing right now.” 

Alexius raised his eyebrows. “You question my motives? I was under the impression you were here to negotiate for the assistance of my mages to contain the Breach.”

“ _Your_ mages?” Hawke exclaimed. She took an aggressive step toward him. “You-”

Fenris grasped her wrist hard and shot Alexius a sharp look. “What do you know of the Breach?” he demanded. Did Alexius know who was responsible for it? Corypheus, perhaps…?

Alexius tilted his head, and the slightly chiding look on his face set Fenris’s teeth on edge. “I know what I see with my own two eyes,” Alexius said. “A dangerous doorway for demons to enter into this world. It was my understanding that you required my help to close it.” He gestured toward the table where Fiona had been sitting. “May I?” he asked. 

Fenris glared at him, but the magister didn’t seem to care; he walked over to the table without waiting for a response and seated himself in Fiona’s vacated chair.

He brushed the creases from his coat, then folded his hands comfortably in his lap and glanced at his younger companion. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?” He looked up at Cassandra, Hawke, and Solas, who were standing at attention around Fenris. “Pardon my manners,” Alexius said to them. “This is my son, Felix.” 

Fenris looked at the serious-faced young man with a jolt of recognition. The last time he had seen Alexius’s son, he was a quiet boy of twelve or thirteen years of age. He was tall and grown now, but… rather sickly-looking, now that Fenris was paying attention to him. And paler than Fenris’s memory conjured. 

Then Alexius’s unctuous voice drew their attention again. “Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt,” he said. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for-” 

Hawke placed her palms on the table and glared at Alexius. “Fiona says she is indentured to you. Explain.”

Alexius’s lips thinned into a narrow line. Despite his simmering temper, Fenris felt a spike of amusement at Hawke’s terrible manners. Alexius had always hated being interrupted. 

“The southern mages have no legal status in the Imperium,” Alexius said coolly. “They must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights.”

“And then what?” Hawke demanded. “What happens to them then?”

“Once they are properly trained, they will join our Legion,” Alexius said. 

Behind him, Fiona’s face fell. “But you said not all my people would be military! There are children, those not suited-”

The magister cut her off with a sharp look. “And one day, I’m sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium. When their debts are paid.”

Fiona closed her mouth and subsided, and Fenris frowned more deeply at how defeated she looked. Hawke, meanwhile, shoved herself away from the table, then strode over to Solas and begin murmuring in his ear. 

Fenris glanced at them in consternation until Alexius spoke again. “As I was saying,” he said with a resentful glance at Hawke, “closing the Breach is an ambitious endeavour indeed. It is difficult to say how many mages you would require for such a feat. It would-”

Felix suddenly stumbled, then fell against Fenris’s shoulder.

“Felix!” Alexius gasped. 

Fenris tried to shirk away from Felix, but the younger man stumbled again. “My lord, I’m so sorry,” he groaned, and he grabbed Fenris’s hand. 

Fenris instantly went tense at the unwanted touch, then paused. Felix was pressing something into his hand: a folded piece of paper, it seemed. 

Very briefly, Fenris met Felix’s eyes. The younger man’s expression was pleading, and as he and Fenris looked at each other, Felix gave him a very slight nod. 

Fenris forced himself to relax, and he stood still as Felix regained his supposedly lost balance. Then Alexius was wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders and ushering him away. 

“I’ll get your powders,” he said solicitously, then looked over his shoulder at Fenris. “Please excuse me. We will have to continue this at another time. I will send word to the Inquisition.” He jerked his head at Fiona. “I will require your assistance back at the castle,” he told her. 

Fiona stepped away from the table and began to follow the magister without looking at Fenris or the others. But Hawke grasped her arm before she could leave. “Keep your chin up,” she said. 

Fiona nodded, but her face remained sad. She followed the magister and his son out of the tavern. 

As soon as they were gone, Fenris began unfolding the paper that Felix had given him.

Cassandra took a step closer. “What is that?” she said curiously. 

“A note from Felix,” Fenris said. Then he read it out loud. “‘Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.’”

“Well, that’s just fucking fantastic,” Hawke drawled. “In case everything wasn’t awful enough already.” 

“Indeed,” Fenris grunted. He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. 

Hawke grasped his wrist. “Fenris, we have to stop him,” she said urgently. “You see that, right? Alexius is making the rebel mages into slaves. And don’t give me that ‘indentured by choice’ crap,” she snapped. “It’s not by choice. You saw Fiona’s face. There’s something about this whole thing that absolutely stinks.” 

“I quite agree,” Solas said firmly. “I can understand Fiona wishing to help her people, but the timing seems extremely convenient.” 

“And the Arl being kicked out of his own castle?” Cassandra said angrily. “This magister has staged a coup. A foreign invasion right beneath our noses. How could this have happened so swiftly?”

Fenris rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. _Venhedis,_ he thought. They had a point, all of them. They weren’t wrong. But… _fasta vass,_ he didn’t want this. How was it that he always ended up helping blasted fucking mages?

Hawke’s fingers were firm on his wrist. He gently twisted his hand out of her grip. “We need to know exactly when Alexius got here,” he said. “That is the first thing we need to find out.”

“Then let’s ask around,” Hawke said eagerly. “We’ll ask everyone who’s here. They’ll be able to tell us.”

Fenris nodded. “You do that,” he told her. He looked at Cassandra and Solas in turn. “Speak to everyone here. I will go and tell Varric and Sera what happened.”

Cassandra nodded sharply as Solas murmured a soft assent, and the two of them stepped away to speak to the people in the tavern. Hawke, however, remained at his side.

She shifted closer to him, and Fenris noted that she looked slightly apprehensive. “Are you angry with me?” she asked quietly. 

He shook his head. “No. I’m…” He trailed off and rubbed his face again, then looked her in the eye. “I don’t like the mage rebellion,” he said. “And I do _not_ approve of Fiona’s actions. Tying herself to the Magisterium, knowing full well the corruption they condone… It is reprehensible.”

Hawke nodded an acknowledgement, but didn’t reply. Fenris ran his fingers slowly through his hair. “The Templars are still a mystery,” he told her. “We don’t know… there is probably red lyrium involved.” He scowled at her. “While we have been here dealing with these mages and the problems they have brought upon themselves, the Templars have probably been… I don’t know. And that is the point,” he said angrily. “We don’t know what is happening with the Templars.”

Hawke continued to nod. “That’s true,” she said softly. “But… we do know what’s happening here.”

“I know that,” Fenris snapped. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, then gripped his hair until his scalp began to hurt. 

He and Hawke stood in an uneasy silence for a moment. Then Fenris released his hair and dropped his hand back to his side. “I am going to speak to Varric and Sera,” he grunted. 

“All right,” Hawke said. But she didn’t step away, and her worried eyes remained fixed on his face. 

Fenris frowned at her for a moment longer. Then he leaned in and quickly kissed her lips before turning away and leaving the tavern.

Varric was waiting just outside the door with his crossbow in his hands. “Hey,” he said. He folded the crossbow and replaced it on his back with the ease of long practice, then tilted his head. “What happened in there? It was a lot quieter than I thought it would be.”

Fenris looked around. “Where is Sera?”

“In the back,” Varric said. “At least, I think she is. She’s been weirdly quiet too. Probably up to something.”

Fenris nodded, then slowly walked over to a nearby bench. He sank onto the bench and buried his face in his hands.

A moment later, Fenris felt the bench settle as Varric sat beside him. “What’s going on, elf?” he said quietly. 

Fenris rested his elbows on his knees and glanced at Varric. “Cursed mages. I can never escape them, Varric. Why is that?”

Varric snorted. “You’re basically married to a mage. It’s kind of unavoidable.”

“I don’t mean Hawke,” Fenris said. “She is unlike the others. But somehow I always find myself-”

“Tell me something,” Varric interrupted. “What makes Hawke so special?”

Fenris stared at him, then slowly sat upright. “Excuse me?” he said flatly.

Varric waved his hand impatiently. “I don’t mean like… I mean, Hawke is great. I love Hawke. Everyone loves Hawke. What I mean is, what makes her so special as a mage?”

Fenris scowled at him. It was still a stupid question. “She controls her magic. She treats it as a tool and nothing more,” he said. “She never tries to show it off or impress anyone. She never uses it to manipulate for personal gain.”

“Okay,” Varric said. “But she’s not the only one.” 

Fenris curled his lip. “I have met no other-”

“You need to talk to people more,” Varric interrupted. “Like that kid Lysas, maybe.” He jerked his thumb at the bottom of the stairs.

Fenris looked. Varric was indicating the young elven mage who had come to speak to them at the gate.

Fenris glared at Varric. “What about him?”

“He’s a mage,” Varric said casually. “He was in the Circle. Always followed all the rules until the Circles dissolved. Seems like a nice kid.”

“Nice and obedient, until he suddenly is not,” Fenris muttered. 

Varric raised one eyebrow. “So… what? You’d just watch him suspiciously, waiting for him to mess up so you can jump on him and accuse him of being a maleficar?”

Fenris glared viciously at Varric. The damned dwarf sounded so matter-of-fact, and Fenris knew exactly where he was going with this. 

“You think I am behaving like a tyrannical Templar,” he accused.

“I didn’t say that,” Varric said blandly. 

Fenris shot him an annoyed look. “Now _you_ sound like Hawke.” 

Varric smirked. “Hate to disappoint you, but you’re not my type.”

Fenris scoffed, and the two of them fell silent for a moment. Then Fenris tried again. “Hawke would never become a maleficar,” he said. “She would never summon demons or do blood magic.” 

Varric grimaced. “Well… that’s not entirely true.”

Fenris whipped around and glared at him. “What are you talking about?” he hissed. “She would never…”

He trailed off as he realized what Varric was referring to: the time they’d been lured into Corypheus’s prison in the Vimmarks, and she’d been forced to spill her blood to free them all from the prison. 

Fenris shook his head. “That doesn’t count,” he said. “She had no choice. She wouldn’t have done it if there was any other way for us to escape.”

Varric shrugged. “She’s probably not the only one who’s done a little blood magic when they were desperate.”

“And _that_ is the kind of rationale that results in blasted blood witches like Merrill,” Fenris snapped. 

Varric raised his eyebrows and darted a glance at the door of the tavern. Suddenly worried, Fenris looked too, then relaxed slightly when he realized Hawke wasn’t there.

He sighed and allowed his head to hang in exhaustion for a moment. Then Varric spoke again, very quietly. “Has Hawke written to Merrill or anything since…?”

He trailed off as Fenris shook his head. “No,” Fenris murmured. “They’ve had no contact since Merrill left.” 

Varric whistled softly. “And that was, what, two years ago?”

“More or less,” Fenris said. Aside from Fenris himself, Merrill had been the last to leave Hawke’s side after their flight from Kirkwall. And that, of course, had been the problem. With only Hawke to stand between Merrill and Fenris, with their constant and escalating disagreements… 

Varric twisted his lips ruefully, and they were both quiet for another moment.

“Sorry I wasn’t there,” Varric said suddenly. “If I’d stayed, then maybe…”

Fenris shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he said. “You had good reason to return to Kirkwall. It is your home. More your home than it ever was to us.” 

“Ah, you say that, but you miss it really,” Varric said. 

Fenris huffed and shot him a tiny smirk. “At this moment, yes. I miss Kirkwall deeply right now.” 

Varric smiled, and they both chuckled. Then Varric leaned back on the bench and jerked his chin at the tavern. “Did that magister tell you anything about…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Anything about Corypheus?”

Fenris pursed his lips. “I was unable to ask,” he murmured. “It… truth be told, I wasn’t sure how to broach it. I don’t want Cassandra or the others to know yet, in case it turns out not to be true.” 

Varric grunted an acknowledgement. “So what did happen in there?”

“Ah. Right,” Fenris said. “That’s what I came out here for…” He raised his voice. “Sera! Come here.” He dug in his belt pouch, then gave Varric the note that Felix had forced into his hand. 

A moment later, Sera sauntered around the side of the tavern. “Howsit, Fenny?” She peered over Varric’s shoulder at the note. “Ooh, secret-y,” she said with relish, then smiled at Fenris. “We off to the Chantry, then?”

“Yes,” he said. “This is what you missed…” He began to briskly explain to Varric and Sera what had been talked about in the Gull and Lantern. By the time he’d finished the telling, Cassandra and Solas and Hawke had emerged from the tavern. 

Fenris looked up at them. “What did you discover? When did Alexius arrive here?”

“Two days after the explosion at the Conclave,” Cassandra said. 

Fenris gaped at her. “That’s impossible,” he said.

“Exactly,” Hawke said emphatically. “Impossible unless…” She looked at Solas.

Fenris looked at Solas as well, then wilted. “That time-warping rift,” he said.

Solas nodded. “Precisely. It seems that this Tevinter magister has achieved a type of magic I have never before seen.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows with fresh concern. He’d been under the impression that there was next to nothing that Solas hadn’t seen before, either in the real world or in his ill-advised Fadewalking. 

“So?” Hawke said. She was practically vibrating with nervous energy. “Are we going to the Chantry now?”

Fenris nodded, then rose from the bench. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to get to the bottom of _something,_ at least.”

The walk to the Chantry was short, and Sera and Hawke filled it with catty remarks about the Tevinters’ outlandish clothing styles. As they approached the Chantry door, Fenris turned to face them all. “Who wants to stand guard-?”

“Nuh-uh. Not this time,” Varric said firmly. “Not after your secret danger note there.”

“Same,” Sera piped up. “I need something to poke with me arrows. It’s getting boring out here.” 

Fenris glanced at Hawke, who shrugged. “Nothing risked, nothing gained?” she said.

He wrinkled his nose. “Of course you would say that.”

She grinned and blew him a kiss. Without further preamble, Fenris pushed open the Chantry doors.

They found themselves facing another of those odd time-warping rifts, this one larger than the last. In front of the rift, fighting a handful of demons on his own, was a mage. 

A Tevinter mage who was also familiar to Fenris.

He sighed loudly. “ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” he complained. This mage hadn’t had a mustache when Fenris had last seen him over a decade ago, but his features were unmistakable.

“What?” Hawke said in alarm. “Fenris, what is it?”

Fenris shook his head irritably. Then the Tevinter mage turned around to face them, and his face lit with surprise as his eyes fell on Fenris. 

“It _is_ you!” he exclaimed. “Well, well! Rumours notwithstanding, help me close this up, would you?”

Hawke stared at the Tevinter mage, then turned to Fenris with wide eyes. “You know _him_ , too?” she said incredulously. 

Varric patted her elbow. “Maybe we should deal with the he-knows-who-from-where _after_ the demons are dead?” 

“An excellent suggestion,” Solas said. They all pulled their weapons free and dove into the fight. 

Fenris wasted no time with the demons this time. He bolted straight toward the rift and raised his left hand, then gritted his teeth and forced every ounce of his concentration into the vibrating mark on his palm.

He required a few breaks before he was able to fully close the rift: breaks during which he helped to beat back the demons with a few well-timed blasts from his lyrium tattoos. By the time the rift was shut, Fenris’s head was starting to ache from fatigue. 

He rubbed his left palm to dissipate the tingling feeling. Then the Tevinter mage strolled over to him with a smile. “It’s Fenris, isn’t it? Fascinating! How does that work, exactly?”

Fenris shot him a resentful look and didn’t reply, but this didn’t deter him at all; instead, he simply laughed. “You don’t even know, do you?” he said brightly. “You just wiggle your fingers and _boom!_ Rift closes.”

Fenris took a step back. “Pavus,” he grunted. “What are you doing here?” 

The mage rolled his eyes. “Oh please, no need to stand on ceremony. Call me Dorian, will you?”

Fenris scowled. Dorian was acting so friendly. One would almost think he had _not_ casually witnessed Fenris being paraded around in golden shackles during the banquets that Dorian had attended with his father or Alexius at Danarius’s house. 

Fenris folded his arms. “What is your play here?” he demanded. “If this is a trap-”

Dorian tutted. “So suspicious. Trust me, my friend, I am not the one you need to worry about here.”

_Trust him?_ Fenris scoffed. He’d be doing no such thing. “Start talking,” he said threateningly. “What are we doing here? Why did Felix give me that note?”

“Hang on, hang on,” Hawke protested. She came up beside Fenris and propped her fists on her hips, then glared at Dorian. “Who in the Void are you?”

“Ah! Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He bowed to Hawke with a little flourish. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” He shot her a debonair smile. 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t drop her belligerent pose. Dorian blew out a sigh and gave Fenris a rueful smile. “Suspicious friends you have here,” he said. He looked at Hawke once more. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Hawke dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at Fenris. “Maker’s balls. How bloody small is Minrathous?” she said incredulously. “Does everyone there know everyone?”

Dorian laughed. “I could say the same about this funny little village you have here. I’m fairly sure everyone in Redcliffe is their next-door neighbour’s grandmother.” 

Hawke coughed out a tiny laugh, then wrestled her face back into a frown. Fenris ignored Dorian and answered Hawke’s question. “They don’t all know each other. Just everyone within the magisterial circle.” 

Hawke frowned more deeply. “So you’re a magister,” she said accusingly to Dorian. 

Dorian sighed dramatically and shot Fenris a chiding look. “Must you perpetuate these stereotypes?”

“And why would I care whether the stereotypes about _your_ kind are dispelled?” Fenris snarled. He didn’t understand why Dorian was behaving as though they knew each other well. They had never even spoken, after all. Fenris was somewhat surprised Dorian even knew his name, given how little notice Dorian had taken of him at Danarius’s mansion. Not that Fenris had wanted to be noticed per se, what with the lyrium marks staining his skin, but that wasn’t the point. 

Dorian frowned at him, then turned to Hawke once more. “I’m a mage from Tevinter, but _not_ a member of the Magisterium,” he said primly. “I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

Hawke snorted, then clumsily turned the snort into a choking cough. Cassandra scowled. “Where is Felix?” she asked. 

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian said casually. “He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.” 

“There is no need to wait for Felix,” Fenris said. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Dorian tutted again. “No appreciation for drama. Look, you must know there’s danger. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“We know that,” Fenris said flatly. He waved bad-temperedly at Solas. “You are not the only mage here.” 

“Don’t forget me,” Hawke said cheerfully. She tucked her hand through the crook of Fenris’s arm.

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Well then,” he said. His eyes darted over Hawke and Solas, then back to Fenris. “The rift you just closed will soon be joined by more, and they’ll appear farther and farther away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “How do you know all this?” 

“I helped develop this magic,” Dorian said. 

Solas raised his eyebrows, and there was a collective groan of annoyance and dismay from Hawke, Varric, Sera and Cassandra. 

“ _Fasta vass._ Of course you did,” Fenris snarled. “Of course that is how this happened.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Dorian. “It is not enough that you mages twist the world around you to suit your needs. No, you have to tear the fabric of time as well, just to prove your misbegotten-”

“Oh, calm down, all right?” Dorian said irritably. “When I was Alexius’s apprentice, it was pure theory. I’m not sure how he managed to make it work, and I don’t understand why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” Felix said. 

Fenris and the others turned toward the door of the Chantry to see Alexius’s son making his way toward them. 

Dorian sighed - in relief, perhaps. “Took you long enough,” he said to Felix. “Is he getting suspicious?”

Felix shook his head as he reached Dorian’s side. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He looked at Fenris earnestly. “My father has joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

Fenris recoiled and narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he demanded. _Venhedis_ , if this was about the fucking lyrium scars again… 

Felix lifted his shoulders. “I honestly don’t know. But they’re obsessed with you. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” 

“You can close the rifts. Maybe there’s a connection?” Dorian suggested. “Or they see you as a threat?”

“They should,” Hawke interjected. Her expression was fierce. “Let them try and come after Fenris. We’ll kill them all.”

Sera giggled, and Varric whistled softly. “Wow, Hawke. You and Fenris have really been spending too much time together,” he drawled.

Dorian smirked at Hawke and Fenris. “You two do make an adorable murderous pair. Shared hobbies to strengthen the bond, hmm? You know what they say, couples who kill together…”

Fenris scowled at him. Then Cassandra spoke to Felix. “Alexius is your father. Why are you working against him?”

“A good point,” Fenris said. He folded his arms and shot Felix a pointed look. “Why should we believe anything you say? Perhaps you will go straight back to your father after this. Tell them you’ve lured the Inquisition into your trap.” 

Dorian _tsk_ ed loudly and turned away, but Felix’s gaze was steady on Fenris’s face. “I love my father,” he said. “And I love my country. But this? Cults and time magic? What he’s doing here is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian remarked snidely. “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

Fenris stared at them without speaking. Dorian eventually sighed and looked Fenris square in the eye. “You don’t trust us,” he said bluntly, with a wave of his hand to himself and Felix. “We’re mages from Tevinter, and you think that makes us terrible people. But you can see how dire this situation is,” he said urgently as Fenris glared at him. “We need to fix what Alexius has done, and we need your cooperation to do that.” 

Fenris studied him critically. For the first time, Dorian had dropped his ostentatious veneer. His face was completely serious as he waited for Fenris’s response. 

The others were silent as well. Finally Fenris lifted his chin. “We will consider what you’ve said.”

Dorian nodded. “I suppose that’ll have to do for now.” He took a step back. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe; Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there.”

His eyebrows were creased with determination. Fenris suspiciously returned his steady gaze, then nodded once. 

Dorian smiled, restoring his usual jaunty manner. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Felix, try not to get yourself killed.” He looked at Fenris once more and touched his fingers to his forehead in a playful salute. “ _Vitae benefaria,_ ” he said, and he sauntered away toward a side exit. 

Felix watched him go. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” he said softly. 

Fenris pursed his lips. Felix’s words were an uncomfortable variation of Fenris’s own thoughts about himself and Fiona from earlier today.

Felix turned to Fenris and gave a respectful little bow. “Thank you for your time. I… perhaps you don’t remember me from Tevinter, I was very young-”

“I remember,” Fenris said.

Felix nodded and twisted his fingers together nervously. There was an awkward pause, then Felix stepped away. “Well. I hope… well. Thank you again, my lord-”

Fenris cut him off. “It is just ‘Fenris’,” he said, but less harshly than he might otherwise have done.

Felix nodded again. He gave a small smile to the rest of the group, then made his way to the Chantry doors and left. 

Fenris released a long breath. Then Sera piped up. “This is weird. Don’t like it,” she announced.

Varric snorted. “You said it, Buttercup.” 

“And it’s not even my fault this time,” Hawke said cheerfully. She turned to Fenris with a raised eyebrow. “Is it just me, or is it strange that neither Alexius nor Dorian seem to care that you killed Danarius?” she asked. “I mean, they know you killed him, right? One of their own cronies, thick as thieves and all that?”

“Of course they know,” Fenris said. He gazed thoughtfully at the door that Felix had exited through. “Alexius would probably thank me for getting rid of his competition if it wouldn't reflect badly on him. As for Pavus…” Fenris shook his head. “Maybe he simply doesn’t care. I admit that I’m not certain of his motives. The last time I saw him, he was all of… seventeen years, perhaps. Nineteen at most.” 

Sera snickered. “Did he always have such a fancy mustache?” she asked. “Looked like a curly little smile sitting on top of his smile. Distracting is what that is.” 

“Wasn’t it, though?” Hawke said brightly. “He’s almost _too_ handsome. I don’t know if we can trust someone so good-looking. He’s probably used to getting his way all the time with a smile and a wink.” 

Fenris grunted noncommittally. The thought of working with Dorian rankled, but it was seeming as though they didn’t have a choice. And if Fenris was being completely objective, Dorian wasn’t the worst Tevinter they could be stuck with. The younger Dorian had been memorable more for his looks and social ties, not for having done anything particularly bad. In Fenris’s opinion, the truest reflection of a person’s character was the way they treated their social inferiors, and Dorian had never been overtly cruel or unkind to him or to any of Danarius’s other slaves, from what Fenris could recall.

_But a lack of mistreatment does not equal kindness or goodwill,_ he thought. He remembered the way the teenage Dorian’s eyes slid past him unseeingly, as though Fenris was just an inert fixture in the house: that same casual ignorance that most humans boasted when looking at an elf, particularly in the Imperium. And Fenris knew for a fact that House Pavus had owned a number of slaves, just like any other magisterial household. Dorian’s family supported and upheld the slave trade just as much as Danarius’s family had. 

He rubbed his forehead tiredly. This whole predicament was too much already, without the added layer of Dorian’s dubious quality of character to think about. “Let’s return to Haven,” he said. “The others will want to know of this.”

They murmured their agreement and made their way toward the door, and Solas fell into step beside him. “This time-manipulation magic disturbs me greatly,” he said. 

“I know,” Fenris grunted. “It is appalling.” 

Solas nodded. “I know you wish to consider our options carefully,” he said. “But I would encourage you not to think too long. Ironic though it may be to say… we may not have time.”

Fenris pursed his lips, but nodded agreement. Solas wasn’t wrong. And if Fenris was honest, his main qualm about working with Felix and Dorian was personal: he hated the idea of allying with Tevinter mages, even if their goal was to undo the cursed magical mess of an even worse Tevinter magister. 

But Hawke’s words from earlier today were also swimming at the back of his mind: _It doesn’t matter what I want, not when things in bloody Thedas are this bad._ Alexius’s blasted time magic had the potential to tear apart the entire world, and they would need to act quickly to stop it. They were running out of the one thing they needed to fix. 

They were running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be very long. It might take longer than usual to put together. Bear with me! ^_^
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone is interested in chatting about Fenris! :)


	9. Worse Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is over 20,000 words. Forgive me. It's just... it covers a whole mission, and I didn't want to split it up... 
> 
> Let me know if this chapter length is annoying. I can _try_ and keep the chapters to ~11,000 words max in the future if I really need to, but honestly, I usually just make my chapters as long as they "need" to be... TT^TT
> 
> TW: brief mention of Fenris's past sexual abuse by Danarius.

_There are worse things than dying,_ Felix said. 

In his younger days, Fenris heartily disagreed with the sentiment. It was, after all, the opposite idea that had kept him alive. 

Through the pain of his lyrium scars and the sickening crawl of Danarius’s fingers on his skin, Fenris forced himself to remember that things could be worse. The skirmishes he’d been forced into and the Seheronese he’d been forced to kill: through it all, Fenris reminded himself that death was tantamount to surrender. If he could endure pain and loneliness, hunger and the empty cavern of his own memories, then he could endure anything that his cursed life would throw his way. 

_Na via lerno victoria,_ he would think: only the living know victory. Through his seemingly unending years under Danarius’s thumb, this was the thought that would carry his heavy feet and his deadened heart from one day to the next. Once he’d slipped out of Danarius’s grasp, it was the thought that drove him across the continent as he made good on his escape.

Fenris was a survivor. He’d survived slavery and rape, abject poverty and abuse and the unforgivable weight of innocent deaths that he’d caused. He’d shifted from hopelessness to a hardened rage on the basis of this one central thought: nothing could be worse than the final failure of death. 

Then Fenris met Hawke. And in the shelter of her affection and the vibrancy of her smile, he’d realized something new: there was more to life than mere survival. It wasn’t enough to just stay alive from one day to the next. Hawke looked for joy, for adventure and laughter and companionship; survival alone had never been enough for her. And through her optimistic eyes, Fenris eventually came to feel the same. 

_Na via lerno victoria,_ yes. Only the living knew victory. But his years with Hawke had helped him to understand something crucial: living was so much more than survival. A life worth living meant more than food and water and shelter. A good life, a _worthwhile_ life, needed hope and happiness and love. And for Fenris, those things were Hawke. 

In order for his life to be valuable, Fenris needed Hawke. 

_There are worse things than dying,_ Felix said. Now, as Fenris stood staring at the surplus of red in the dank dungeon cells - the blood on the walls and the lyrium bursting from the paving stones, the bright scrap of scarlet wrapped around his wrist and the rivers of crimson that trickled from her eyes - he realized that Felix was right.

************************

A mere ten days after their first meeting with Alexius, Fenris and the others were making their way back to Redcliffe.

They’d returned to Haven a week ago, only to be met by a letter from Alexius inviting Fenris for a private negotiation at Redcliffe Castle. During the war table discussion, it had been decided that Fenris would enter the castle with only Cassandra, Varric and Hawke at his side while Dorian slipped through the secret entrance with Leliana’s agents. But Solas, Blackwall and Sera had insisted on coming for the journey - “to learn more of this magic”, “to have your back”, and “to throw bees into breeches”, respectively - and Fenris could find no reason to naysay them. 

He spent much of the trip listening to the others talking and joking around. Predictably, Hawke and Dorian became fast friends. It wasn’t long before Hawke, Dorian, Sera and Varric were involved in a constant interchange of jokes and jabs, with frequent commentary from Blackwall and the occasional dry dig from Solas as well. As was also true to form, Hawke spent much of the journey trying to draw Fenris into the fray. Although he indulged her primarily out of habit rather than a true willingness to participate, he had to admit that the cheerful jokes made for a soothing distraction from what was to come.

When he wasn’t walking alongside Hawke, he spent time with Cassandra and Blackwall. The warriors were polite and down-to-earth and they spoke mainly about combat styles, and this made for a pleasant distraction as well. Cassandra’s structured Chantry training contrasted with Blackwall’s eclectic Free Marcher style, and neither of them had met a fighter quite like Fenris before; unsurprising, given the lyrium under his skin and the mishmash of styles he brought from both from the Tevinter and Seheronese traditions. 

Overall, thanks to the plethora of chat that flowed among their little group, Fenris managed to keep his mind occupied during the journey to Redcliffe. A relief, since there was an edgy feeling of uncertainty in his gut that no amount of preparation seemed to soothe. In all honesty, he still wished they were going to investigate the Templars instead. If red lyrium was involved with the Templars, at least it was a familiar danger, unlike this unknown time-bending magic. 

It was all well and good for Dorian to say he could undo Alexius’s mistakes, but Fenris didn’t know enough about this blasted time magic to be sure. How could Dorian be so certain of his own expertise?

Fenris was torn between asking Dorian for more information, and not wanting to talk to Dorian at all. He still felt resentful of Dorian’s friendliness, especially contrasted with the complete disregard Dorian had shown him while they were both in the Imperium. During the journey to the Hinterlands, Dorian had tried more than once to engage Fenris in conversation, and Fenris had shirked away each time. 

When they were almost in Redcliffe, Dorian confronted him about his recalcitrance. “Fenris, explain something to me,” he said. “You dote on Hawke, and you don’t seem to mind Solas. So what exactly is your problem with me?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Your family owned slaves.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, and we treated them well.” 

“How fortunate for them,” Fenris retorted acidly. Then he took a deep and calming breath. He did _not_ want to talk about this right now, not when they were about to walk into Alexius’s so-called trap. But Dorian did not seem to want to let it go. 

Fenris gave him a shrewd look. “What did you know about me? Back in Tevinter?”

“You were Danarius’s bodyguard,” Dorian said. “You accompanied him everywhere.” His eyes darted to Fenris’s tattooed chin and neck. “I was told that he’d given you magic to enhance your battle prowess-” 

“ _Given_ ,” Fenris interrupted. “Like a gift, you mean? That is what you heard?”

Dorian’s expression was growing increasingly cautious. “Yes,” he said. “When you went… missing, the rumours were that you were stolen by qunari and brainwashed into the Qun. It wasn’t until after Danarius, er, died and his slaves went to the other magisters that we heard about… well.” 

“Go on,” Fenris growled. He could feel his pulse starting to race with anger. “Tell me what they said.” 

Dorian hesitated before speaking in a quiet voice. “They said that you were a different man after the lyrium tattoos. That Danarius had to… punish you for disobedience.” 

Fenris burst out a nasty little laugh. “ _Punishment_. Yes, he punished me. Every day and every night for months,” he hissed. “And once I was sufficiently obedient, he punished me still for the sheer pleasure of it. Did your cursed rumours speak of that?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “No. No, they… they didn’t.”

“I thought not,” Fenris said. He glared at Dorian. “You say your family treats your slaves well. But they are still slaves. They are still property to be traded and used at will. At _your_ will.” He inhaled deeply through his nose before going on. “The knowledge that you do not belong to yourself is more damaging than you could ever imagine.”

For the first time in what felt like days, Dorian was quiet. They walked along the road in silence for a minute. 

“All right, I confess,” Dorian said finally. “I’ve never thought much about what it’s like to be a slave.”

“That is extremely obvious,” Fenris said snidely. 

Dorian frowned slightly. “Do you believe the underclass is so much better off here, then? In those ghastly alienages that these southerners are so fond of?”

“No,” Fenris said. “The alienages are a cage. A means to contain the scurf of society that you humans do not wish to see. Their elves are just as shackled as the ones you nobles keep in your homes.”

Dorian threw his hands up in exasperation. “What would _you_ suggest, then? You have so many thoughts about alienages and slavery. You must have some wonderful solution in mind.” 

Fenris scowled. This conversation was putting him in mind of a fight he’d had with Merrill back in Kirkwall, when she’d accused him of doing nothing to help other disenfranchised elves. Angry though her accusations had made him, Merrill’s point had wormed its way into his mind, and Fenris was not pleased to admit that he’d done nothing about it since. Granted, he’d been rather busy running from the Templars with Hawke for the past few years, but the fact still rankled. 

“I don’t have a solution,” he admitted.

Dorian rolled his eyes emphatically. “Well then, can you blame me-”

“Yes,” Fenris snapped. “Yes, I can. As long as your family owns slaves, you are supporting the slave trade in Tevinter. You are upholding the status quo on a criminal trade that condones abduction and widespread abuse!” He pinned Dorian with a fresh and furious glare. “I have heard you speaking with Hawke. Talking about wanting reform among the magisterium. In Tevinter, that reform would need to come from the bottom up. Your culture is built on the bones and blood of slaves. Nothing in Tevinter will change unless that does.” He looked away from Dorian. “Leave me. I have spoken about this enough for one day.”

He could feel Dorian scowling at him, but he refused to meet Dorian’s gaze. A moment later, Dorian walked away to join Hawke and Sera and Varric once more. 

Fenris glared at the back of Dorian’s perfectly-coiffed head, then heaved a heavy sigh. This was not the mindset he’d wanted before walking into a fresh mess with a blasted magister. 

He tilted his head back tiredly for a moment, then glanced to the side and frowned. Solas was walking a few paces away, and his eyes were on the path, but his face was wreathed in a smile. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Does something amuse you?” he asked.

Solas shook his head slightly, but his smile remained broad. “Seeing a person of privilege be cut down with a sharp tongue is always a joy.”

Fenris grunted. He and Solas walked in silence for a moment. Then Fenris glanced at Solas again. 

Solas was still grinning. To his surprise, Fenris found himself smiling back. 

They both chuckled. Then Fenris sobered as his mind returned to the task at hand. “I hope this… discussion does not diminish Dorian’s willingness to help with Alexius,” he said. 

Solas shook his head and drifted closer until he and Fenris were walking side by side. “Do not worry about that. Dorian may be many things, but his reasons for helping with this problem are just. He will not turn away now.” 

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. Then Solas spoke again, in a softer voice than before. “ _Eman solas i'mar eol._ ”

Fenris frowned. “I do not speak Elvhen.” 

Solas bowed his head slightly. “Our people can sometimes feel the rhythm of the language, despite lacking the vocabulary.” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “It is not too late to learn, if you are interested.”

Fenris pursed his lips. He wasn’t… _un_ interested, per se. He’d always had a certain facility with languages. And learning to read with Hawke and Varric’s help had only enhanced his linguistic interests. But for some reason, the idea of learning Elvhen made him apprehensive. 

The only elves who spoke Elvhen were the Dalish, and Fenris had never been fond of them. Furthermore, from what Merrill had said, each clan spoke a different dialect, and none of them were completely fluent in the tongue. Solas was the only non-Dalish elf Fenris had ever known who could speak Elvhen fluently. 

And that fact in itself was an oddity. 

He eyed Solas with a hint of suspicion. “I will consider it,” he said. 

Solas bowed his head slightly. “Please do,” he said. Then they continued along the road in a comfortable silence. 

Fenris remained lost in his thoughts until they reached the steps of Redcliffe Castle. Cassandra turned to them all with a stern visage. “Are we ready?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said. Dorian had left them some time ago to join Leliana’s agents at the back entrance to the Castle. Now that they were here, Fenris was eager to see the task done. 

He looked at Solas, Blackwall and Sera. “Go to the Gull and Lantern. We will join you there when this is over. If we do not return in an hour…”

“We will come to your aid,” Blackwall said firmly, and Sera nodded eagerly. Then the three of them walked away.

Fenris turned back to the others and met Hawke’s eye. She reached out and affectionately rubbed his earlobe. “I was thinking that it’s too bad Tallis isn’t here to do that prancey nug dance of hers. Now _that_ would be a good way to distract Alexius.”

He smirked, then gently pulled her hand away from his ear and squeezed her fingers. “You are an idiot.” 

She grinned. “Only for you, Fenris,” she said. “Only for you.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows wordlessly, and Fenris nodded and dropped Hawke’s hand. “Come,” he said, and he led Cassandra, Hawke and Varric up the stairs to the keep. 

A pair of Tevinter guards pushed open the castle doors, and a messenger led them through the foyer and into a receiving room. At the top of a short dais was a blazing fireplace and a very Fereldan-looking throne, and seated on the throne was the magister, with Felix and Fiona standing at his sides. 

Fenris was careful not to look at Felix as they approached the dais. Alexius rose to his feet with a smile as they drew close. “My friend, it’s so good to see you again. And your associates, of course.” He nodded politely to Hawke, Cassandra and Varric.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Alexius’s smarminess, but said nothing as the magister settled comfortably back in his chair. Alexius steepled his fingers and smiled down at them. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties. The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So what shall you offer in exchange?”

Fenris folded his arms and ignored the question. “Tell me about your Venatori cult,” he said bluntly. “What do they want with me?” 

Alexius’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, then narrowed slightly. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean,” he said smoothly. 

Felix took a step closer to the throne. “He knows everything, Father.”

Alexius’s calm visage melted into shock as he looked at his son. “Felix, what have you done?”

Fenris stepped forward aggressively. “Do not think to waste my time,” he growled. “Tell me why you asked us here.”

Alexius surged out of his throne once more, and all semblance of pleasantness was gone from his face. He gestured angrily at Fenris. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake!”

“A gift?” Hawke blurted. “What does that mean?”

 _Finally,_ Fenris thought with a rush of anticipation. _Finally someone who knows something about this blasted mark._ He lifted his left hand and watched as Alexius’s covetous eyes latched onto the sickly green spot in the center of his palm. 

“What is this?” Fenris demanded. “Tell me what this is!” 

“It belongs to your betters,” Alexius snapped. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose!”

Fenris took another angry step toward Alexius, but he was starting to feel worried now. Why did Alexius want this mark so badly? If Alexius wanted it, then it could only have been made for a nefarious purpose.

But if that was the case, then… then perhaps Fenris couldn’t get rid of it. Not if he wanted to keep it away from the likes of Alexius. 

Disappointment flooded his chest, dimming some of his rage. Then Felix grasped his father’s arm. “Listen to yourself!” he hissed. “Do you know what you sound like?”

Right on cue, Dorian stepped out from behind a nearby column and sauntered over to Fenris’s side. “He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” he said dryly.

Alexius’s face slackened in surprise before twisting with betrayal. “Dorian,” he hissed. “I gave you a chance to be part of this, and you turned me down.” He stared imperiously down at them. “The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes!”

“Elder One?” Varric said. He and Hawke looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Fenris. 

“ _Kaffas,_ ” Fenris muttered. This Elder One. Could it be…? 

He looked up at Alexius with a scowl. “Who is the Elder One?” he demanded. “Is he a magister?”

“Soon he will become a god,” Alexius announced. He lifted his arms dramatically. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“That’s not an answer,” Hawke sing-songed, but her voice was tight with nerves. 

Fiona, who had been watching all of this with wide eyes, shook her head emphatically. “You can’t involve my people in this!”

Felix hurried forward again and grabbed Alexius’s hand. “Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the breach, and let’s go home,” he pleaded.

“No!” Alexius said. To Fenris’s surprise, he placed his other hand over Felix’s, and his zealous expression melted into anxiety as he faced his son. “It’s the only way,” Alexius said fervently. “He can save you.”

Dorian’s posture stiffened, and Felix recoiled. “Save me?” he said.

Fenris frowned. “What is he talking about?” he asked Dorian.

Dorian shook his head sadly, but before he could reply, Alexius spoke again. “The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple, then he can-”

“I’m going to die,” Felix interrupted loudly. “You need to accept that!”

Just then, from all the corners of the room, there was the faint sound of scuffling followed by muffled cries of pain, and Fenris relaxed: Leliana’s people were in place, and all of Alexius’s men were dead.

He curled his lip and took a step toward the dais. He lifted his right hand and set his tattoos alight. “Your men are dead,” he said threateningly. “Now _talk_. Who is this Elder One?”

“Fenris, be cautious,” Cassandra warned. 

Alexius rose to his feet and reached behind him, and Fenris reached for his greatsword in response. But instead of drawing a weapon, Alexius pulled a necklace from a pouch on his belt. 

“ _Venhedis,_ ” Dorian cursed. “Is that…? Alexius, don’t.” He took a hasty step toward the magister, but it was too late: Alexius made a twisting motion with his hand, and the necklace lit up with a sickly glowing green. 

The same shade of green as Fenris’s left palm.

He drew his sword with a snarl, but Alexius was not intimidated; his face was twisted with panic and anger. “You are a mistake!” he yelled. “You never should have existed!” Then, with another twisting motion of his hand, a rift appeared.

At least, Fenris _thought_ it was a rift. It was glowing and green and rife with cursed magic that Fenris could feel down his bones. But it didn’t look like the other rifts he’d seen. In fact, it looked oddly like water spinning down a drain.

Fenris instinctively backed away from the rift, just as Dorian rushed forward with his staff drawn. “No!” Dorian shouted. 

Alexius made a vicious grabbing gesture. Then Fenris was being pulled, or sucked, or - _dragged_ somehow, dragged through the rift with his sword in his hand and Dorian at his side, and his ears felt like they were going to burst and his lungs felt too tight to breathe or yell or anything at all - 

_SPLASH_. He landed with a gasp in an ankle-deep pool of water, then instantly lost his balance and fell to his hands. 

“Blood of the Elder One! Where’d they come from?” a strange voice demanded.

Fenris shoved his damp hair out of his face and looked up in time to see two Tevinter guards bursting into flame. 

The guards screamed in agony as Dorian’s flames seared them. Fenris pushed himself to his feet and bolted toward the guards with his sword drawn. Moments later, the two guards were dead, and their blood was tinting the stagnant pool of water that licked lazily at his ankles. 

Dorian racked his staff on his back and propped his fists on his hips. “Displacement? Interesting!” he said. He looked around at the dungeon as though it was fascinating and _not_ just a dank and water-damaged cell. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

Fenris was barely listening. He stared in alarm at the huge deposits of red lyrium that were sprouting from the nearest wall. Red lyrium in the dungeon of Redcliffe Castle? It was a horrific thought. Perhaps it was for the best that the Arl had been kicked out, if this is what was inside the castle all this time. 

_Varric will be horrified to see this,_ he thought. He carefully racked his greatsword on his back, then edged away from the red lyrium deposit. “We are in the dungeon,” he told Dorian. “That seems obvious enough.”

Dorian shot him an amused look. “I knew you were a sharp one. No no, that’s not all.” He turned away with a thoughtful look on his face. “If we’re still in the Castle, it isn’t…” He broke off, then brightened and snapped his fingers. “Oh! Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s _when!_ ” He smiled brightly at Fenris. “Alexius use the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

Fenris gaped at him. “Back through time, or forward?”

“Forward. Must be,” Dorian said. “Those guards mentioned the Elder One, so this must be the future.” 

Fenris frowned and looked around with fresh eyes and a fresh wave of concern. This place looked disgustingly grim, even for a dungeon. There was the flood of brackish water that was rendering his bare feet cold, and the blood spattered across the walls, and the amount of rust on all the gates and hinges, as though no one had come down here for maintenance in months…

Fenris swallowed hard. He was starting to get a distinctly sick feeling in his stomach. If the future looked this grim, what in the Void had happened? “Where are the others?” he asked. “Cassandra and Varric and… and Hawke. Why aren’t they here as well?” 

“The rift was quite small,” Dorian said. He was still looking around the room with an annoying degree of interest. “Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They’re probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense, anyway.” 

Fenris sighed quietly. Hawke was safe and sound in the past. That was good. “So we need to go back,” he said. 

“I quite agree,” Dorian said. “Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back. If we can.”

Fenris frowned at him as they waded toward the door of the cell. “What do you mean, ‘if we can’? This is your magic,” he accused. “You must reverse it.” 

Dorian shot him an annoyed look. “You might recall that I said I _helped_ to develop it. It is not, however, _my_ magic. I may brag a lot, but all of my bragging is genuine.”

Fenris scowled. He wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. “But you do have an idea on how to get us back?” he pressed.

“I do have some thoughts on that,” Dorian confirmed. He stroked his smooth-shaven chin. “They’re lovely thoughts, like little jewels.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose at Dorian. Then they continued to wander through the dungeon. 

Dorian hummed softly to himself as they moved through the gloomy corridors, and Fenris shot him a sideways look. As long as they were stuck here together, he might as well learn as much as possible about the situation they’d waded into. 

“What was Alexius’s intent with this?” he asked. 

Dorian narrowed his eyes pensively. “I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely. If that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to mangle his Elder One’s plan.” He smirked. “I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are.” He gestured to their grim surroundings with a flourish. “Makes sense?”

Fenris frowned slightly. “Remove me from time? How would that have worked?”

Dorian shrugged and grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but I’m not certain. That is one element of all this that I was never involved in researching.”

Fenris grunted, and they were silent for a while. Then Fenris shot Dorian a suspicious look. “This research you did.”

“Yes?” Dorian said pleasantly. He looked at Fenris, then wilted slightly. “Oh. You’re just going to get angry at me some more, aren’t you?”

Fenris scowled. “You were doing research on time travel. Moving through time, manipulating it… It never occurred to you how foolish and dangerous that is? Look at where it’s brought us.” He waved his own gauntleted hand at their dismal surroundings. 

“Of course we knew it was dangerous,” Dorian retorted. “That’s why we were researching it. The more you know, the less danger there is. Have you never heard the saying, ‘knowledge is power’?”

Fenris scowled more deeply still. “Of course I have. I am not an idiot.” 

Dorian hummed noncommittally. “Well, all research of a magical nature entails some danger. But that is true of almost any research,” he pushed on doggedly as Fenris opened his mouth to protest. “Creature research, alchemy, dwarven runecraft: none of that is without its dangers. Only by learning more can we mitigate the risks.”

Fenris glared at Dorian. “Fine. Research entails risk. But you admit that you were seeking power. You were trying gain the power to manipulate time itself! That’s…” He broke off as he sought the appropriate word. 

“Ambitious? Original? Worthy of a person with incredibly high intellect?” Dorian suggested.

“Abhorrent,” Fenris spat. 

Dorian sighed and gave Fenris a serious look. “We were _not_ researching it for the power per se. At least, I wasn’t. It was the discovery and the knowledge that I sought. Better to know how things work than to live in ignorance, don’t you think?” He gave Fenris a quick once-over and twisted his lips. “Well, perhaps _you_ don’t think so. Regardless, that’s what I think, and I’ll stand by it. The reason this happened…” He gestured at the dungeon once more, “... is because Alexius clearly did _not_ know what he was doing.” He looked at Fenris again. “He called you a mistake, but the real mistake was his.” 

Fenris pursed his lips, but didn’t reply. They picked their way through some more rubble and up a flight of stairs.

Dorian gazed interestedly at the red lyrium deposits. “Now these sparkly red crystals everywhere. What do you suppose-?”

“Do not touch it,” Fenris said gruffly. “It’s red lyrium.”

Dorian raised one eyebrow. “Red lyrium? What’s that now?”

“It is lyrium that has been corrupted somehow,” Fenris said. “It is exponentially more potent than normal lyrium, but also drives you insane. It gives people hallucinations. Delusions. They lose touch with reality. Do _not_ touch it.”

Dorian’s frown deepened as Fenris explained. “Understood,” he said, then tilted his head curiously. “How do you know this?”

“From Kirkwall,” Fenris said. He shot Dorian a sideways glance. “Have you not heard of the Kirkwall Rebellion?”

“A little bit,” Dorian said vaguely. “Some kind of revolt, wasn’t it? It incited this whole mage-Templar war among the southerners, I believe.”

Fenris snorted. He couldn’t decide whether to be disgusted or amused that one of the most significant events in his and Hawke’s life had been reduced down to ‘some kind of revolt’. 

“Hawke and Varric and I were there,” he said. “It…” Then he sighed. He didn’t really want to get into the details of the Kirkwall rebellion while tromping through a filthy dungeon in some grim post-apocalyptic future. 

“Hawke will tell you the whole story some other time,” Fenris said. “Suffice it to say that the Commander of the Templars was corrupted by red lyrium. At the end of it all, she turned into a statue of red lyrium. It was growing out of her eyes, her face and body…” He shook his head at the ugly memory. “I believe it - _she_ \- is still there. Frozen in place like some evil tableau. Varric said they aren’t sure how to remove her without infecting anyone further.” 

Dorian’s eyes were wide. “ _Kaffas_. Message received. Don’t touch the pretty red crystals bursting out of the walls.”

Fenris nodded confirmation, and they continued to walk through the dungeons. But Fenris was starting to get concerned. He’d expected more people around; guards, given this was the dungeon, or prisoners at least. But most of the cells were empty aside from corpses and crystals of red lyrium. 

“Speaking of power…” Dorian said.

“What of it?” Fenris said distractedly.

“Well. You’re wielding a rather dangerous and unknown power yourself on that pretty little palm of yours,” Dorian said. “Does the irony of that not disturb you?”

Fenris glared at him. “This was not my choice,” he said. “Do you not see that? None of this was my choice. This mark, these - these blasted lyrium scars. Any magic that has ever touched my body was _not_ by my choice. I would be cursed with none of this if I had any choice in the matter.”

Dorian twisted his lips and didn’t respond, and Fenris turned away from him as they continued down yet another glum bone- and blood-spattered corridor. 

“I apologize,” Dorian said eventually. 

“For what?” Fenris grunted. “You didn’t do anything. Not directly. Not to me, in any case. I can’t speak of others-”

Dorian sighed loudly. “What I _mean_ is that I’m sorry for what you suffered.”

Fenris waved him off. “Keep your apologies,” he said gruffly. “If you wish to make amends, just get us back to our normal time.”

Dorian snorted and shook his head. “You certainly are as prickly as your armour, aren’t you? I was simply going to offer to put some research into that mark on your hand. But if you’re going to insist on snarling at me at every turn…” 

Fenris looked at him suspiciously. Dorian’s expression was slightly annoyed, but otherwise quite calm. Not smug or supercilious in the least, as Fenris might have expected from a Tevinter mage. 

He returned his attention to the branching corridor they were in. “Solas is already researching the mark,” he said, but in a softer tone than before. 

“Ah,” Dorian said. “Well then, that’s good.” 

They both fell quiet once more, and there was an awkward pause as they stood on the landing looking at the two branching staircases.

Fenris cleared his throat surreptitiously. “Thank you anyway,” he said quickly, then gestured at the left-hand stairs. “Shall we…?”

“Why not,” Dorian said. They made their way up the stairs. 

They found themselves in a short corridor that opened into two smaller rooms, and Fenris cocked his head. There was a faint humming voice, a masculine-sounding one, emanating from the nearest room. 

He and Dorian cautiously drew closer, and Fenris’s eyes widened in shock as they looked into the nearest cell: there was a living person there, the first living person they’d seen in the dungeon other than themselves and the guards they’d killed. 

Fenris’s jaw dropped as they walked up to the bars. “Varric?” he said incredulously. 

Varric jumped in surprise, then turned to face them, and Fenris’s heart thumped with anxiety. Varric’s eyes were glowing red, and there was a faint red glimmer to his skin. 

_He’s infected,_ Fenris thought, even as Varric’s face split into a wide-eyed grin. 

“Andraste’s sacred knickers,” Varric rasped. “You’re alive? Where were you? How did you escape?”

Fenris couldn’t speak. Why was Varric here? Dorian had said… 

_This is the future Varric,_ he reminded himself. This wasn’t the ‘real’ Varric. The real Varric was in Redcliffe, safe and sound and uninfected with Hawke. 

At the thought of Hawke, Fenris’s heart began to beat more quickly. _Fasta vass_ , if a version of her was here… 

Oblivious to Fenris’s reeling thoughts, Dorian was speaking to Varric. “We didn’t escape. Alexius sent us into the future,” he said. 

Varric snorted and smiled at Fenris. “I bet you’re loving this. More weird magic shit, huh?”

Fenris grunted in response. He couldn’t ask where Hawke was in this timeline. He didn’t want to know. But he _had_ to know. What if she was-

“So what are you doing here?” Varric asked. “Or did you come back just to admire the effect of all this red lyrium on my chest hair? I know you’re jealous, Sparkler. The elf here has always envied my hairy chest.”

Dorian huffed in mocking disdain. “Quite. Well, if we get to Alexius and find his amulet, I just might be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really.”

Varric’s jocular expression melted away. “That… may not be as easy as you think,” he said. 

Fenris snapped to attention. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Alexius is just a servant,” Varric said. “The Elder One assassinated the Empress of Orlais and led a demon army in a huge invasion of the south. He rules everything. What’s left of it, anyway. Alexius is really not the one you need to worry about.”

“Varric,” Fenris said urgently. “Who is the Elder One?”

Varric stared at him, then barked out a laugh. “Oh. Right. I guess you weren’t here when he… well. You were right,” he said. 

Fenris’s eyes widened. “It’s Corypheus?”

Dorian drew back. “Corypheus? You mean the High Priest of Dumat? But that’s ridiculous. That’s a kernel of fact buried in layers of fairy tales.” 

“It’s not,” Fenris said tersely. “We met him years ago, and we killed him. Or we thought we had.” 

“Evidently not very well,” Dorian remarked. 

“Ah, we gave it our best shot,” Varric said. He tucked his hands in his pockets and looked at Fenris. “But yeah. For what’s it’s worth, you were right.”

“ _Venhedis fasta vass,”_ Fenris muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, in this time at least, this changes nothing. We must find Alexius and…” He looked at Dorian. “That cursed amulet, you said?”

“That’s right,” Dorian said. “It’s the locus of his power. I’ll use it to take us back in time-”

“And then we’ll destroy it,” Fenris commanded. 

Dorian broke off and frowned. “But… no. We should study it. Gain whatever information-”

“No,” Fenris said loudly. “We will destroy it when we’ve set things right. Nothing good comes from knowing how to do something such as this.” 

Dorian glared at him, and Fenris ferociously returned his glare. Then Varric cleared his throat. “Uh, guys? Shouldn’t we, you know. Go try and find Alexius and undo all this shit?” 

Dorian stepped back. “The hairy one has a point,” he said, but he continued to glare at Fenris. He turned on his heel. “Let’s move along, shall we?”

Fenris followed in his wake as they checked the other door in the short corridor, then returned to the landing upon finding nobody alive. They ascended the right-hand stairs, but before they could even reach the top, Fenris recognized the voice that was floating into the corridor. 

“The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next,” Cassandra intoned. “For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

Fenris peered over Varric’s head. “Cassandra?”

The Seeker was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head hung low. At the sound of Fenris’s voice, however, she sat up straight, and her haggard face was transformed with hope. 

“You’ve returned to us,” she breathed. “Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?” She beamed at him, then her smile slipped away. “Maker forgive me, I failed you,” she said. She bowed her head once more. “I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“We did not die,” Fenris told her. She was infected with red lyrium too, and Fenris’s heart was pounding a staccato rhythm in his chest. 

“Alexius sent us forward in time,” Dorian piped in. “If we find him, we may be able to return to the present.” 

Cassandra lifted her head, and her expression was hopeful once more. “Go back in time? Then… can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

Fenris nodded. “If Dorian can actually do as he’s been saying all along, then yes.” 

Dorian snorted softly. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, my friend.”

Fenris ignored him and opened Cassandra’s cell to let her out. Then Cassandra surprised him by gasping loudly. 

“Varric!” she exclaimed. Then, to Fenris’s even greater surprise, she fell to her knees and hugged Varric around the neck. 

“You’re still alive!” she said. “I thought, after the last escape…”

Varric patted her back. “Ah, come on, Seeker. You know I’m tougher than that.” 

Cassandra drew back and beamed at Varric, and Fenris watched with wide eyes as she wiped a red-tinged tear from her eye. 

“I knew it,” Dorian crowed. He leaned back and folded his arms. “I knew all along that the two of you had some wicked chemistry. The constant bickering and the scowling…”

Cassandra turned one of her famous scowls on Dorian as she rose to her feet. “Do not joke about this,” she scolded. “You don’t know what you are talking about. Varric is one of the bravest men I have ever known.” She turned a proud look on the dwarf. “The Maker will be glad to take you to his side, when our time inevitably comes.”

“Ah, come off it,” Varric said with a dismissive wave, but he was beaming at her just as widely. He studied her briefly from head to toe. “You look about the same as me, huh? We’ve still got some time yet.”

Cassandra’s expression sobered. “Yes,” she said sadly. “I still do not know whether to wish for a swift end or not.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about either,” Dorian said. “Let’s go find Alexius, shall we?”

“Cassandra,” Fenris blurted. “Varric. I need to know…” He trailed off as all three of his companions turned to look at him. 

Seeing Cassandra and Varric here, infected and ill like this… _It’s not real,_ he told himself. This timeline did not need to become reality, not if they found the amulet and went back in time. But if Cassandra and Varric were here, and Hawke had been in Redcliffe Castle as well… 

He couldn’t stand the suspense anymore. He swallowed hard. “Hawke,” he rasped. “What happened to… where is she? Is she…”

Varric’s expression immediately grew cautious, and Fenris shook his head in denial. “No,” he breathed. “What-?”

Varric held up a placating hand. “We don’t know where Hawke is,” Varric said calmly. “I haven’t seen her in months.” 

“But she was here? She - she survived?” Fenris demanded. 

“She… yeah, she survived the first few waves. And she fought for a while. Then she…” He trailed off, and Fenris stopped breathing at the apologetic look on his face. 

He dragged in a rough breath. “Just tell me,” he rasped. 

“Hawke gave up,” Cassandra said bluntly. 

Fenris stared at her with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

Varric bowed his head, but Cassandra’s gaze was steady. “She got infected by red lyrium,” Cassandra said. “We all did, as you can see. But for some reason, it affected her more strongly than most. She insisted that everything that was happening was all her fault, and we could not convince her otherwise.”

Fenris swallowed hard. “She… why?” He looked at Varric in desperation. “Why would she think that?”

Varric took a slow, deep breath, then lifted his face to look at Fenris. “Because it was her idea to come to Redcliffe,” he said softly. “To meet with the mages. She thought that if _you_ had made the call and gone to the Templars instead, we’d all… that this wouldn’t have happened.”

Fenris shook his head slowly. His heart was pounding in his ears. _That’s not true,_ he thought, but his tongue felt frozen, and he couldn’t speak.

He’d agreed to meet the mages in Redcliffe because it was the logical choice. And he’d agreed to stop Alexius because it was the only thing they could do. It was… it had been the right thing to do.

He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “It’s not her fault,” he said to Varric. “It wasn’t… I _did_ choose this. She just… presented options that I wouldn’t have otherwise seen. It wasn’t…”

Dorian grasped his shoulder. “Fenris,” he said loudly. 

Fenris flinched, then met Dorian’s eyes. 

“It doesn’t have to happen this way,” Dorian said firmly. “We will undo this. All right?”

Fenris stared at him. Then Varric stepped forward as well. “Sparkler is right,” he said. “You guys fix this, and it’s all a moot point anyway. Okay?”

Fenris took a deep breath, then another. Finally he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, all… all right.” He nodded again, then looked at them all in turn. “Where do we go?”

“Alexius locked himself in the throne room,” Cassandra said. “That’s where we’ll find him.” 

They set out once more, this time with more purpose as Cassandra and Varric led the way, and Fenris did his best to pretend his stomach wasn’t twisting into knots. Hawke blamed herself for all of this? Corypheus’s invasion, the red lyrium… she blamed herself for _this?_

 _Of course she does,_ he thought. _Anytime anyone she loves gets hurt, she blames herself._ That was what the coiling black tattoo on her left shoulder blade and back represented, after all. Bethany, her mother, Carver leaving the family to join the Templars… every twist and line of Hawke’s elaborate tattoo was a mark of her self-perceived failures: a map of pain hidden under her clothes so she could stop it from showing on her ever-smiling face. 

But Cassandra said she’d given up. And that was the part that had Fenris so disturbed. Hawke never gave up. Despite everything she’d suffered, she was always smiling, always cracking a joke and holding hope that things would turn out for the best. Hawke never gave up, and her sunny sense of optimism was one of the things Fenris loved so much. If this timeline and its horrors had beaten the hope out of her…

 _I will not let this happen,_ Fenris thought fiercely. If this timeline and the events it held had made Hawke lose her hope, then Fenris would never let this happen.

“Oh shit,” Varric said. 

Fenris looked up in alarm. Varric and the others were standing in the doorway of another dungeon room.

As Fenris drew near, Dorian held out an arm. “Wait.”

Varric’s face was slack with distress as he looked into the room, and Fenris’s heart instantly leapt into his throat. “Let me pass,” he snapped at Dorian. 

“It’s not real, all right?” Dorian said forcefully. “We’re going to fix-”

“Let me pass!” Fenris shouted. He shoved Dorian’s arm aside rushed into the room. 

The room was small, with only a single cell. Huddled in the back corner of the cell, wearing filthy trousers and a torn linen shirt, was a skinny female figure with dirty dark hair. 

She was curled face-first in the corner of the cell. Her shirt was torn across the back from the left shoulder blade down to the ribs. Sprouting from her exposed skin like a malevolent plant was an array of red crystals. 

“Andraste guide her,” Cassandra whispered hoarsely.

Fenris fell to his knees in front of the cell. “Hawke?” he rasped. 

She shifted slightly, but didn’t speak. Fenris grasped the bars of the cell with shaking hands. “Hawke,” he said urgently. “Turn around.”

She shifted a bit more, then shook her head and placed one hand on the ground. Fenris’s eyes dropped to her hand. There was a ring on her finger, the ruby-and-onyx engagement ring that Fenris had given her years ago, and a fresh spike of fear stabbed through his chest at the confirmation. 

“Rynne,” he said loudly. “Turn around and look at me.” 

“I don’t think she can hear you,” Varric said quietly. 

Fenris ignored him. “Rynne,” he shouted. “Turn around right now.”

She shook her head again, then giggled.

Fenris froze at the sound. It was a twisted sound of mirth, like a punch-drunk laugh but ugly somehow, and a ripple of goosebumps ran down his neck as she laughed again. 

Finally, at long last, she spoke. “So bossy,” she said. “You can use that bossy tone with me anytime.”

He swallowed hard. Her voice was cracked as though from disuse, and she still wasn’t making any moves to face him. 

She sighed and slumped against the wall again. “Fenris, Fenris… haunt my dreams, why don’t you. You and everyone else…” She trailed off into a vague, tuneless hum. 

Varric shook his head. “It’s the red lyrium sickness. She’s lost it, just like Bartrand.” His words were matter-of-fact, but his voice was shaking. 

Fenris carefully rose to his feet, then started to open the bars to her cell. 

Dorian grabbed his arm. “What are you-”

Fenris hauled his arm away. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. 

“I’m trying to save your life, you ass!” Dorian yelled back. “You can’t touch her. You told me that. You’ll get infected too, and then where will we be?”

“I won’t touch her,” Fenris retorted. “I just… I want to…”

“What?” Dorian demanded. “What do you want with her? This isn’t real. She is not real.”

“She _is_ real!” Fenris roared. “Look at her! This is the most hideously real thing I have ever seen!” 

“Fenris?”

He broke off and looked down. Finally, at long last, Hawke was facing him, and Fenris almost wished she wasn’t. 

Her face was deathly pale and her eyes were a brilliant, livid red. Trailing from her eyes down to her chin were two matching columns of fine red lyrium crystals, like malignant tear tracks.

As Fenris met her eyes, she smiled, and the red crystals around her mouth crumbled away and fell into her lap. Then she laughed again. “ _You’re_ not real,” she told him. “Look how perfect you are. So fucking handsome and untouched, like a dream. Solas always said dreams are more than they seem…” She trailed off, and her unfocused gaze slid to Varric. “Varric!” she slurred. “Now _you’re_ real. Look at you. You look better than me though, I’m quite jealous.”

Varric stepped into the cell and patted her shoulder. “Hey, Hawke,” he said in a thick voice. “Good to see you. I mean, not good, but… ah, you know what I mean.” He rubbed his nose roughly.

“You too,” Hawke said. “Varric, can you kill me?”

Fenris shot her a sharp look. “What?” he blurted. 

She ignored him and focused on Varric. “Kill me,” she said casually. “Just kill me, all right? I’m tired. If I die, then I can join Fenris in that nice dream there.” She smiled at Fenris once more. “Right?”

Fenris stared at her. Dorian was right; this wasn’t Hawke, not really. The red lyrium had ruined her. This woman covered in crystals wasn’t Hawke: this was a shell, a shell of self-recrimination and despair, and… 

Fenris’s gut was roiling and rising, shoving its way past his swollen throat. He opened his mouth to answer her, then bent over and threw up instead. 

The others were silent as Fenris fought to catch his breath. Then Hawke spoke in a small voice. “Sick. He’s sick, sick sick sick like the rest of us. Maybe he is real…” She trailed off into a weak sob.

Fenris closed his eyes. The bile was bitter in his throat, and he could feel his face twisting with grief. 

Then Dorian spoke in a warm, firm voice. “Come on, then. Let’s get moving. All of us.”

Fenris swallowed hard, then roughly wiped his face and looked at Dorian. The Tevinter mage’s expression was determined, but his eyes were surprisingly sympathetic. 

“An adventure?” Hawke said. “Where are we going?” She looked at Fenris. “Will I find you there?”

Fenris met her haunted crimson gaze. For the first time, she looked a tiny bit hopeful.

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. He forced himself to keep his voice calm and even. “I’ll be there. And Varric will be too, and Cassandra.”

Her eyes widened. Slowly and laboriously, with help from Varric, she pushed herself to her feet. “And Carver? Will he be there? I haven’t seen him since Gamlen sent him to the market to get fish that one time.”

Fenris swallowed hard, then took a step back as Hawke stumbled out of her cell. “Yes,” he lied. “Carver will be there.”

“Oh good,” Hawke said. “He always was handsome in red. Even though he hated it.” 

She continued to chatter nonsense as they made their way down the hall toward another set of stairs. Cassandra lowered her voice and leaned toward Dorian and Fenris. “Do you truly think this is wise?” she asked.

Fenris glared at her implication, but Dorian replied. “Only time will tell,” he said cheerfully. “Now come on, Cassandra, lead the way to the fanciest part of the castle. I’m sure that’s where Alexius will be.”

They moved through the castle with a bit more haste. To Fenris’s relief, Hawke was able to keep up, despite her slightly haphazard gait. The castle seemed largely abandoned, and they were easily able to find weapons for Cassandra and Hawke and Varric, though Varric grumbled in complaint at the common crossbow instead of his precious Bianca. 

Hawke patted his shoulder. “Ah, don’t worry, Varric, it’s just temporary,” she said. “Fenris and Dorian will fix this whole time-travelling mess, then all of this will have never happened.”

Fenris stopped short and stared at her. What she’d just said was completely accurate.

“Wait a moment,” he said. He peered carefully at her. “Are you…?”

“Moments of lucidity,” Varric said. He sounded resigned. “Bartrand was the same, remember?”

Fenris wilted in disappointment. “Ah. Yes.” 

Hawke frowned at Varric as they jogged through a door into a wide, high-ceilinged room that branched in three directions. “Hey, I resent that,” she said to him. “I’m far prettier than Bartrand. Though I think your brother had bigger tits than me-”

“Guards!” Cassandra hissed. She pulled out her sword and lifted her shield, then charged toward them with a shout. “Maker take you!”

Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back, then charged toward the four guards as well. A moment later, the vibrant warmth of Hawke’s barrier settled over him. 

He breathed more easily at the familiar feeling, then launched himself into the fray. The guards were clearly shaken by their appearance and put up little fight. But just as Fenris was about to finish off their final foe, Hawke flung herself at the guard. 

“You fucking pile of nugshit!” she yelled, and she punched the half-dead guard in the face. “Lay a hand on Fenris and I’ll fucking - you dare speak to him like - Vint bastard!”

Shocked by her sudden violence, Fenris instinctively reached out to stop her. 

“Fenris, no!” Cassandra shouted.

Dorian grabbed his hand just in time, and Fenris allowed Dorian to pull him away as Varric hurried over.

“Hey,” Varric said soothingly. He grabbed Hawke’s bloodied fist. “It’s okay, Hawke. He’s dead, all right? Danarius is dead. No one’s going to touch Fenris.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose, and he shot Fenris a questioning glance. “Did she… Did that actually happen? She physically attacked a magister?” 

“She tried,” Fenris said numbly. “Our friend Aveline held her back.”

Dorian snorted with laughter. “Oh, that is wonderful. Little thing like her attacking a magister with her dainty little fists? You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Fenris grunted. Then Varric and Hawke joined them, and Hawke smiled at Fenris. “I got him good,” she said. “Not as good as you did, but still good.”

Her fists were bloodied and raw. Fenris studied her gaunt smile with an aching heart. “Thank you,” he said softly. Then he nodded toward the stairs. “We should move on.”

They continued their winding course through the castle, moving through crumbling corridors filled with bodies and the remains of what looked like abandoned magical rituals. Eventually they found themselves in a wing that was particularly bloodied, and filled with a number of horrible-looking machines.

Dorian grimaced. “Torture much, did they?” he drawled.

“Yeah,” Varric said. “Everyone got a taste of it.”

Fenris whipped around, his gaze darting between Varric and Hawke. “Everyone?” he said weakly.

Varric nodded. His expression was somber. “Yep,” he said. 

Hawke smiled vaguely, and Fenris gazed at them in fresh horror. Then, through a nearby door, they heard the distinctive but muffled sound of a slap, followed by a cry of pain. 

A deep male voice emanated through the door. “Tell me how the elf knew of the sacrifice of the Temple.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows in confusion. That must be a Tevinter interrogator. But why were they asking about this now? What made them think Fenris had known about Corypheus’s intentions at the Temple?

A familiar voice replied: familiar, but rougher than Fenris had ever heard her sound. “Never,” Leliana spat.

Cassandra’s face melted into horror. “Leliana,” she breathed. “I could have sworn they killed her long ago!”

Another slap, followed by another pained cry. “Talk!” the interrogator snapped. “The Elder One demands answers!”

Leliana cackled. “He’ll get used to disappointment,” she retorted. 

“We must free her,” Cassandra whispered urgently. “She knows this castle better than any of us. And she is excellent with a bow.”

“All right,” Dorian said. He looked at Varric. “Find the lady a bow, will you?”

Varric nodded, and Hawke trailed after him as he bustled away. Dorian, Cassandra, and Fenris crept closer to the door, and Fenris experimentally turned the door handle.

“You will break!” the interrogator said.

“I will die first!” Leliana snarled.

The door was unlocked. Fenris met Dorian’s eyes, then nodded once. 

Fenris shoved open the door as loudly as he could. The interrogator turned around, and his jaw dropped as he recognized Fenris. 

Fenris, on the other hand, was briefly paralyzed by the sight of Leliana. She was suspended by her wrists from the ceiling, and she looked almost dead. Her face was little more than skull with skin stretched over it, like a desiccated corpse. 

Despite her appearance, she was very much alive: a fact she made clear by lifting her legs and wrapping them around the neck of her interrogator, then twisting her hips viciously to break his neck. 

Fenris strode into the room and pulled a key from the dead guard’s corpse, then unshackled Leliana from the ceiling.

“You’re alive,” Leliana remarked. She only sounded faintly surprised, and her expression was utterly flat. She briefly rubbed her wrists and studied Fenris’s face, then dropped her hands to her sides. “Do you have weapons?”

Varric entered the room and held out a bow and a quiver to Leliana. “Nightingale,” he greeted. 

She nodded a brusque thanks. “Good. The magister is probably in his chambers.” She nodded to Cassandra, then shot a brief glance at Hawke. “I thought she was dead.” 

“Not yet,” Varric said, rather stiffly. 

Leliana huffed, then pushed her way past Varric and Hawke and out into the hallway, and Fenris frowned slightly at the tension in their exchange. 

Leliana jerked her head toward a left-hand corridor. “This way,” she said, then strode off in the direction she’d indicated.

She was walking so fast that they all had to jog to keep up with her. “You aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian panted.

“No,” Leliana said. 

Fenris glanced quizzically at Varric. Leliana was so… hard. He’d never heard her sound this terse and angry before. 

Varric grimaced. “I told you, elf, it’s been rough,” he said quietly. “People did what they had to do to survive.”

Fenris frowned more deeply. His gaze travelled from Hawke to Leliana then back to Varric, and he lowered his voice. “Did something happen between her and Hawke?” he murmured. 

Varric shook his head. “Not really. Nightingale’s just… angry.” 

“Anger is stronger than any pain,” Leliana called over her shoulder. “Or it is, if you use it well.”

Her tone was pointed, and Fenris didn’t reply; she was correct, after all. But what did that have to do with Hawke?

He looked at Varric questioningly, and Varric sighed. He exchanged a loaded glance with Cassandra, then shot a sidelong look at Hawke, who was wandering along and watching Fenris with a fuzzy sort of affection in her face. 

“Hawke was… kind of the opposite of Leliana,” Varric said softly. “The pain washed away her anger. Leliana wasn’t too happy about it.”

Fenris gaped at him in horror. “Pain? You mean… you mean when they tortured…?”

“No, no,” Varric said hurriedly. “Actually, the torture didn’t do much to her. Hawke was so, er, sad that they couldn’t, um… the torture didn’t work,” he finished lamely. “She might have begged them to just, um…”

“I asked them to kill me,” Hawke said conversationally. “But they wouldn’t. They gave me red lyrium instead. Bloody bastards.”

Her expression was pleasant but vacant. But as Fenris met her eyes, her gaze seemed to sharpen. 

“Fenris, I’ve missed you,” she said. 

She was lucid once more. Fenris swallowed hard at the normalcy of her tone. “I know,” he said. “But it’s all right. Dorian and I-”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have made you come to Redcliffe. This, you dying, all of this… if I had just let you make the fucking decisions like you were going to do, then-”

“Hawke, stop,” Fenris begged. “I didn’t die. I am not dead. Dorian will fix this.”

She shook her head. Her lyrium-laden smile was the most tragic thing he’d ever seen. “You came here because you love me,” she said. “You… you died because you loved me. Everyone is dying because you loved me too much to say no. It’s my fault.” She sobbed suddenly and covered her mouth. 

“No,” he croaked. “That’s not true.” _Venhedis,_ he wanted to hold her so badly. The longing for her was like a vice around his chest. 

Hawke sobbed again. The tears pouring down her face were a livid red. “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you,” she told him shakily. “Remember?” 

“Of course,” he said thickly. “But Hawke, listen to me…”

Dorian stepped forward. “Enough with the tears, all right?” he said briskly to Hawke. “We’re going to find Alexius and reverse his spell. If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

Leliana suddenly laughed: that same nasty, angry laugh from before. “And mages always wonder why people fear them,” she remarked. “No one should have this power.”

Dorian turned toward her. “It is dangerous and unpredictable,” he said carefully. “Before the Breach, nothing we did-”

“Enough,” Leliana snapped. Her gaunt face was ugly with rage. “This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist.” She took an angry step closer to Dorian. “I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

“All right, all right,” Dorian said warily. They all fell into step behind Leliana once more. 

They were silent as they ran, and Fenris watched Hawke from the corner of his eye. She looked calm again, but the lyrium from her tears was already crystallizing on her face. 

They emerged through a cracked tunnel into a clandestine-looking underground dock and were confronted by a pair of demons. Fenris blasted them back with a flare of lyrium-powered energy, and Hawke lit them on fire with a swift fireball. 

The demons dissolved with a hair-raising wail, and Fenris looked over his shoulder at her. She winked at him, and in that tiny gesture, he saw a hint of _his_ Hawke again. 

“Come,” Leliana barked. She led them around the docks toward a low-ceilinged passage in the rough stone wall. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “This the secret passage-?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. She jerked her head for them to precede her. “Go on. I will cover the rear.” 

They bent low and scurried through the tunnel. They were making their way outdoors; Fenris could feel the current of cool air moving through the tunnel toward them. But the air in the tunnel felt strange: charged or… vibrating, somehow. It even smelled strange, like brimstone or lightning.

The strange smell and sensation increased as they moved through the tunnel. Within a couple of minutes, Fenris caught his first glimpse of outside, but he could instantly tell that something was off. 

He emerged into a courtyard and stepped out onto the grass, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the sky: the green, swirling, apocalyptic-looking sky. 

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he breathed. 

“You can say that again,” Dorian said. He sounded like he’d been punched in the gut. 

Fenris shook his head. “The Breach. It is… everywhere.”

Cassandra nodded. Her face was hard with resignation. “It was the Elder One and his Venatori,” she said. “They’re the ones who opened the breach.” She and Leliana strode toward the center of the courtyard without hesitation, and Fenris started to follow them. 

But a rift suddenly burst into existence two meters above his head. 

“Demons!” Dorian said sharply. He pulled his staff from his back. 

Leliana spun around and drew her bow. Her desiccated lips were drawn in a snarl. “Close it,” she shouted at Fenris.

He followed her suggestion; he’d been planning to focus his efforts on the rift anyway. He raised his palm toward it, then clenched his jaw as the energy of the rift vibrated through his skin and into the bones of his hand. 

Through his narrowed eyes, he watched as Leliana shot arrows at the incoming waves of demons, and his esteem for her grew with every swift and perfect shot she landed. She really was as good as Cassandra had said. 

Within short order, thanks to the combined efforts of their little group, the demons were dead and the rift was sealed with the usual _pop_ of pressure. Then, twenty paces ahead, another rift spontaneously appeared. 

Fenris slouched in exasperation. “Is this commonplace now?” he demanded. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Leliana said flatly. “I would suggest ignoring this rift. The demons haven’t spotted us yet. If we stop to close every rift that appears, we will never reach Alexius.”

Fenris frowned deeply. “Are you certain? Because I can-“ 

“I’m certain,” Leliana interrupted. She jerked her head at the side of the building and looked at them all. “We sneak along the periphery. If anyone gets attacked and needs help, call out.” 

Fenris nodded along with the others, and they stealthily made their way toward the door into the royal wing of the castle, avoiding the demons as they went. 

They slipped through the door unnoticed, only to find themselves in a huge reception hall boasting yet another rift, another handful of demons, and a sprinkling of Venatori guards and a mage. 

Fenris studied the roomful of enemies with narrowed eyes, then turned to Leliana. “What would you-“

“Bitch,” Hawke spat.

Fenris spun toward her. She was glaring viciously at the Venatori mage. Before Fenris or anyone could stop her, she pulled her staff from her back and threw a blast of ice at the unsuspecting mage.

“Hawke!” Cassandra snapped.

Varric pulled his crossbow from his back. “Uhh, Hawke, what are you doing…?”

Hawke’s face was drawn in a snarl as she continued to attack the mage. “She’s the one who killed Sera!” she snapped. “Don’t you recognize her?” 

No one had time to reply; the rest of the Venatori guards were bolting toward them, along with the seething group of demons. _Venhedis,_ Fenris thought in exasperation as he drew his greatsword. Then he bolted toward the Venatori with a roar.

He made himself as much of a target as possible in an effort to draw the enemies away from his more vulnerable companions. The others swiftly fell in with his strategy, picking off the archers and the mage while Fenris focused on the swordsmen. Soon enough, their foes were preoccupied and controlled by Hawke and the others, and Fenris turned his attention to the rift. 

His palm was already vibrating, almost as though it was hungry for the rift. Fenris raised his left hand and mentally pulled at the rift, narrowing his eyes in concentration as the evil green portal shrunk bit by bit until it disappeared entirely into his palm. 

“Hawke, don’t touch him!” 

Fenris turned to see Leliana shoving Hawke away from him. It seemed that Hawke had approached him while he was closing the rift.

“I wasn’t going to!” Hawke protested. “I’m just looking, all right? He’s so gorgeous-”

“Stop,” Leliana said forcefully. “Just stop it.” She glared at Fenris and pointed at Hawke accusingly. “She is a liability. She will hold up your purpose here if she comes any further.” 

Hawke scoffed and folded her arms. “I’m standing right here, you know.” 

Varric frowned as he drew close. “Leliana, what-“ 

Fenris cut him off. “What are you suggesting?” he said flatly to Leliana. 

“Leave her here,” Leliana said. “Her presence is of limited use. She poses a danger to you, and it’s a danger we cannot afford.”

Hawke recoiled. Her ravaged face was twisted with disbelief. “Me, a danger to Fenris? How dare-“

“You are mad with lyrium sickness,” Cassandra said sternly. “It has made you reckless.”

“Ah, Hawke was always pretty reckless,” Varric said.

Fenris glared at him. “That is _not_ helpful.” Then he turned his glare to Leliana and Cassandra. “Hawke goes where I go.” 

Leliana barked out that nasty laugh once more. “And when you return to your time? Will you take her with you then as well? We are already dead, Fenris,” she spat. “It is no great loss to leave her in this room while we move on.” 

“She stays with me,” Fenris snarled. “I am not negotiating about this.”

Cassandra pursed her lips, but nodded acquiescence. Leliana, on the other hand, shook her head in disgust and turned away. 

Then Dorian’s cheerful voice called out from the right-hand side of the enormous room. “If you’ve all quite finished your good-natured chat, I’ve found something over here that might be of interest to everyone.” 

They followed Dorian’s voice, and Fenris’s eyes widened as they saw what Dorian was talking about: a huge, imposing-looking door that looked extremely out of place. 

“These are Alexius’s chambers,” Leliana said. 

“Mm, I figured as much, what with the overbearing security features,” Dorian replied. “I’ve heard of this type of door, but never seen one before. It’s extremely ancient. I can’t imagine how he got it here, much less learned how to use it.” 

Fenris frowned at the door. It was… whispering. 

“It’s locked,” Dorian said helpfully.

“Hush,” Fenris snapped. He narrowed his eyes. 

The others fell silent until Fenris took a step back. “It’s… red lyrium,” he said slowly. “We need red lyrium to open it.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “Red lyrium shards in the shape of this plate here, perhaps?” He pointed at a circular engraving at the center of the door at eye level.

Fenris raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Dorian shrugged. “It’s called a shard door. Logical sense, yes?”

“Shards like this, you mean?” Varric said. He wandered over with a sharp, flat piece of red lyrium in his hand.

Dorian lifted his eyebrows. “Ah! Yes, that looks right. The hairy one is useful for something after all.” 

Varric chuckled. “Ah, you’re just jealous.” He slotted the shard into the engraved plate. 

The edges of the door briefly glowed with a gentle green light, then dimmed once more. Dorian smiled at them. “Well then, we know what we’re looking for: four or five more shards.”

“We split up to search,” Leliana said. “The sooner we get into Alexius’s chambers, the better.” 

Fenris nodded. “You, Cassandra, and Varric take the east doors. Dorian, Hawke and I will go to the west.”

“Aww, you chose me for your team?” Hawke simpered. “I’m flattered.” 

Fenris shot her a chiding look, and they made their way toward the west side of the hall. 

“So, Dorian!” Hawke said cheerfully. “What have you been up to all this time?” 

“Not a single thing, in fact,” Dorian said. “We just got here, remember? No time has passed for Fenris and me.” 

“Right, right,” Hawke said vaguely. “Hey, Felix is still around.”

Dorian’s eyebrows leapt high on his forehead. “He - what? Felix is still alive in this nasty place? You’re joking.” 

Suddenly Fenris remembered what Felix had said right before his father had thrown them into the time rift. He looked at Dorian. “What is wrong with Felix? Why did he say he was going to die?”

“Ah, yes. Felix has the blight,” Dorian said. His tone was light and his expression pleasant as he brushed some dust from his bare shoulder. 

Fenris frowned. “Oh. I see. My… my condolences.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t expect condolences from you.” 

“Why not?” Fenris said. He peered over a banister to the floor below. Spotting no enemies, he began to lead Dorian and Hawke down the stairs.

“Because you’re not very nice to people you disagree with,” Hawke said from behind him. 

Fenris frowned over his shoulder at her, but he couldn’t deny her claim. After all, he’d been rather unkind to _her_ when they’d first met all those years ago.

He shrugged ruefully. “No, I suppose I am not.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Fenris stopped abruptly as he heard the voices. 

It sounded like soft chanting. He jerked his head at Hawke and Dorian, and they quietly made their way toward the room where the chanting was coming from. 

Fenris peered around the doorway. It looked like a large abandoned library, and in the middle of the room was a Venatori mage, his face and hands raised toward the ceiling as a group of four soldiers kneeled around the eviscerated body of a young male elf. 

Dorian shook his head in disgust. “Blood magic,” he muttered. “When will they-” 

“Hey,” Hawke said loudly. “Give it up, you assholes.” 

The mage jumped in startlement, and the soldiers were instantly on their feet with their weapons drawn. 

Fenris closed his eyes for patience as Hawke ran past him with her staff in hand. Dorian chuckled ruefully. “Well, you can’t say Leliana didn’t have a point, can you?”

Fenris opened his eyes and glared at Dorian. Then they followed Hawke into the room and joined in the fight.

Even outnumbered, the Venatori didn’t last long; Hawke’s attacks were faster and more vicious than usual, and despite the fact that she was sick from the lyrium and had obviously been half-starved, she didn’t seem to fatigue at all. By the time the fight was done, Dorian and Fenris were slightly short of breath, but Hawke looked as though she’d done nothing more strenuous than stroll through the room. 

She returned her staff to her back. “All right then! What are we doing again? Looking for a way home?”

“No,” Fenris said. He eyed her curiously as she began to wander around the room. “Red lyrium shards, remember? For Alexius’s chamber.” 

“Right!” she chirped. “Red lyrium shards.” She walked over to the nearest guard and began rifling through his pockets. 

Fenris slowly approached her and did the same to the remaining guards. Between the two of them, they found two more shards: pieces of red lyrium that seemed to have been imbued with some protective coating, to prevent Alexius’s servants from getting infected.

“What will happen?” Hawke said.

Fenris looked up at her. She was studying him with her glimmering red eyes. With her hollowed and lyrium-encrusted cheeks, she looked so very sick and young. 

He swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“When you leave,” she said quietly. “What will happen to me?”

Fenris licked his lips. “I… don’t know,” he confessed. “Perhaps… this whole timeline will cease to exist. Perhaps you’ll disappear. Like you were never here at all.”

She continued to gaze pleadingly at him. “Will I see you again?”

“Fenris,” Dorian called. “You should look at this.” 

He forced himself to look away from Hawke. “What is it?”

“A very interesting healer’s note,” Dorian said. 

His tone was jocular but loaded at the same time. Fenris turned back to Hawke. “Come,” he said gently. “Let’s… let’s see what Dorian found.” 

“Something filthy, I hope,” Hawke said. She winked at him as she rose to her feet, and he managed to give her a weak smile in return.

Dorian was perusing a relatively thick book on a debris-covered desk. He moved aside so Hawke and Fenris could read the page he was on. 

“Shit,” Hawke said. She looked up at Dorian. “That’s why Leliana’s so pissed.”

Fenris frowned slightly - he was not a terribly fast reader - but his eyebrows rose as he reached the end of the journal entry. “Ah. This does explain some things,” he said. 

Dorian snorted. “A lot of things, actually. Including why Felix is still alive, if they were trying so hard to cure the blight.” 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Hawke said. “I found this in one of the other rooms.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a tattered leather-bound notebook.

Fenris took it, careful not to touch her fingers as he did. “What is this?” He opened the book, and Dorian peered over his shoulder to read it.

“Damn,” Dorian said. “Alexius’s journal. That last entry looks like it was some time ago, though.” 

“Thought you might like it,” Hawke said to Fenris. “You can read it to me tonight in bed.”

From the corner of his eye, Fenris saw Dorian’s mustache twitch. _At least someone finds this amusing,_ he thought resentfully. “Perhaps,” he said to Hawke. Then he started to read the journal entry.

By the time he got to the end and looked up at Dorian, both of their eyes were wide. “The Breach-” Fenris began.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “It’s impossible to go back in time before it.” He sighed. “Poor Alexius.”

Fenris shot him a sharp look. “‘Poor Alexius’?” he demanded. “It is his fault that all of this has happened! If he hadn’t tried to overreach his own knowledge, none of us would be in this predicament!” 

“He was just trying to save Felix,” Dorian said loudly. “Alexius dotes on him. He would do anything to save him. Don’t act like you don’t understand exactly how that feels.” He shot a very pointed look at Hawke. 

Fenris glanced at her. She looked up from the random paper in her hands that she was folding into a heart. “What?” she said. “What did I do?” 

Fenris glowered at Dorian, but Dorian wasn’t finished speaking yet. “You talk about this time magic like it’s the most terrible thing in the world, but we’re about to use it ourselves,” he said. “Let’s at least admit that it’s useful enough repair this marvelous mess.”

“We are only using time magic to fix the mistake that time magic caused in the first place!” Fenris retorted. “Leliana is right. Nobody should have this power. You _need_ to destroy that amulet as soon as we return to our time.” 

Dorian clicked his tongue. “ _Fasta vass._ There’s no talking to you,” he muttered. He headed back toward the door. “Let’s see if the others have had any luck.” 

Fenris scowled at his back as they returned to the main hall. Fortunately, it seemed that Leliana and the others had indeed found success: they were already standing by the door, and the engraved plate was more complete than when they’d left. 

“Excellent work,” Dorian said as they jogged over. “These should do the trick.” He gestured for Hawke to slot the last two shards into the door. 

The seams around the door glowed green once more, then a deep and sonorous _thunk_ rang through the hall. Fenris raised his eyebrows at his companions. “Ready?” he said quietly. 

Leliana nodded sharply. “Let’s go now.”

Hawke nodded as well. “Together,” she said softly. 

Fenris’s heart gave a painful squeeze. He met her sickly crimson eyes for a moment, then pushed open the doors to Alexius’s chambers. 

Alexius was standing on the dais at the back of the room and staring into the blazing fire. There was no one else present except for a few dead bodies hunched on the dais beside him. 

Fenris strode into the room without hesitating. “Alexius,” he barked. 

The magister flinched, then turned around. To Fenris’s mild surprise, his expression wasn’t angry or scared; he simply looked sad. 

Fenris curled his lip in disgust. _This is all his fault,_ he thought angrily. What right did Alexius have to be sad? 

“Give us the time-warping amulet,” he commanded. “Now.”

Alexius eyed him for a moment, then turned back to face the fire. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I had not destroyed you. My final failure.” He sighed and glanced at one of the corpses on the dais. “All we can do is wait for the end.”

“No,” Fenris snarled. “What _you_ will do is hand over that cursed amulet so Dorian can repair what you have done.”

Alexius shook his head without turning around. “How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I brought? Ruin and death.” He glanced over his shoulder at them. “The Elder One comes for me. For you, for us all.”

“Wow,” Hawke said. “And I thought _I_ wanted to die. He’s _really_ given up.”

Fenris growled. He’d had enough of Alexius’s self-pitying carry-on. He took an angry step toward the dais, prepared to grab Alexius and force the magister to hand over the amulet.

But someone shoved past him and raced up the dais before Fenris could move.

It was Leliana. She grabbed one of the hunched corpses on the dais, then held a dagger to its throat.

Fenris stared at her in confusion. _Why…?_ His confusion only deepened as Alexius fell to his knees in front of Leliana. 

“Felix!” he cried. 

Fenris’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted back to the corpse in Leliana’s arms. _That_ was Felix? Now that Fenris was looking at him, he could see the barest movements of Felix’s eyes beneath his half-closed eyelids, but he looked even more terrible than Leliana. There was no way he was long for this world, if he could truly be called alive anymore.

“Felix?” Dorian exclaimed. His usually-bold voice sounded oddly choked. “Alexius, what have you done?” 

“He would’ve died, Dorian,” Alexius whimpered. “I saved him.” He gazed pleadingly up at Leliana. “Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Fenris tore his eyes away from the macabre sight of Felix’s skull-like face. “Give us the amulet, and Leliana will release him,” he said. 

Alexius shuffled closer to Leliana and held up an entreating hand. “Let him go, and I swear you’ll get what you want!”

Leliana sneered. “I want the world back,” she said. With a vicious slash, she opened Felix’s throat. 

Sluggish dark blood poured from the fresh wound, and Alexius slumped in despair. “No!” he wailed, then clenched his fists in his lap.

His fists were starting to glow. Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back. “Get ready,” he barked at the others. He clenched his own fist and brought his lyrium scars to life, and not a moment too late. 

“No!” Alexius howled, and he shoved his glowing hands out toward them.

A dome of light expanded around him, blasting Leliana clear off her feet. Then a rift appeared above their heads, and demons began pouring from it. 

Fenris snarled, then swung his sword in a wide arc to strike as many demons as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorian and Hawke attacking Alexius’s barrier as Leliana, Cassandra and Varric assisted him with the demons. 

He cut down two demons and maimed a third, then lifted his palm to the rift. Leliana and the others tried to keep the demons back as Fenris focused on shrinking the rift, but it was difficult; the rift was obnoxiously active, spewing a steady stream of demons and wraiths, and Fenris had to spend more time than usual driving the demons back so he could work on the rift. 

Finally, a few long minutes later, he managed to close the rift, just as Dorian and Hawke exploded Alexius’s barrier. 

“Got you!” Hawke cried. 

Fenris whipped around at Hawke’s triumphant shout, then bolted toward the magister.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t give Alexius time to speak or cast another spell. He phased his hand through the magister’s ribs and grabbed his heart, then ripped the organ clean out of his chest. 

“ _Venhedis,_ ” Dorian gasped. His eyes widened in horror as he stared at the dripping heart in Fenris’s hand. “How did you-?”

Fenris unceremoniously dropped the heart on the ground. “Start preparing your spell,” he snapped at Dorian. “I am sick of this cursed place.” He knelt beside Alexius’s corpse and rifled around in the magister’s back pocket, where he’d pulled the amulet from before. 

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “There is no time to waste. You need to get out of here.”

Fenris rose and held out the amulet to Dorian. Dorian took it, but his eyes were still on Alexius. “He wanted to die, didn’t he?” he said. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice.” 

“His death was a boon, then,” Fenris said unsympathetically. He jerked his chin at the amulet. “How do you reverse the spell?”

Dorian shot him a resentful look. “You really are an ass,” he said. He studied the amulet for a moment, then nodded. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour?” Leliana said sharply. “That’s impossible! You must go now!”

At that moment, a loud, deep rumble suddenly started beneath their feet. 

“Oh shit,” Varric said. 

A heavy slamming of stone shook the castle’s walls. Hawke looked around wildly. “Woah. Where’s the party?” she asked. 

A terrible, unearthly, hair-raising screech rent the air, setting Fenris’s teeth on edge. 

“Maker save us,” Cassandra breathed. “He is here.” She unsheathed her sword. 

Fenris stared at her with wide eyes. “Corypheus is here?” he demanded. 

Cassandra didn’t answer. She gazed wordlessly at Leliana and Varric. 

Leliana stared back at her, then nodded sharply and looked at Fenris. “Cassandra and Varric will guard the door. I will remain here to-”

“ _I_ will stay here to guard Fenris and Dorian,” Hawke said. 

Fenris looked at her. Her face was completely calm and serious, and her posture was straight and tall. 

“No,” Cassandra said. “You will join me and Varric. You are too-”

“Piss on that. I’m staying with Fenris,” Hawke said belligerently. She cut a dirty look at Leliana. “You think I’m a fucking liability. But there’s only one thing I’m good for now, and it’s keeping Fenris alive. I am _not_ leaving his side.” 

Fenris stared at her worriedly. Her eyes were almost glowing with anger. Even the lyrium bursting from her back seemed brighter and more lambent than before. 

There was a brief and ugly silence. Then Leliana sighed sharply and pointed at Hawke. “None of this was your fault,” she said. “But if you don’t protect them properly, it will be.”

Hawke took a slow, threatening step toward Leliana. “Don’t worry, Nightingale. I’ll die before I let fucking Corypheus even so much as look at Fenris.”

Another ground-shaking tremor wracked the castle. “Come on,” Cassandra barked at Leliana, and she and Varric headed toward the door. Just before they slipped through the door, Cassandra squeezed Varric’s shoulder, and he reached up to pat her hip. 

Leliana glared at Hawke for another second, then nodded sharply. “Maker stand with you,” she said. She glanced briefly at Fenris and Dorian. “All of you. You have as much time as I have arrows.” She turned on her heel and ran toward the door, then left the room. 

Hawke pulled her staff from her back and looked at Dorian. Her expression was still deadly serious. “Need any help with that?” she asked. 

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” Dorian said breathlessly. “If you can stabilize the energy matrix, then I can gather the threads of temporal context more easily…”

Hawke stepped closer and held one hand over the glowing amulet. Dorian’s eyes widened. “That’s perfect,” he murmured. He looked up at her curiously. “How…”

“The red lyrium,” Fenris said. He’d just realized this. “Her powers must be heightened by red lyrium. It… it’s killing her and enhancing her at the same time.” 

She winked at Fenris. “I’m sick but I’m pretty, no?” 

“Good,” Dorian said distractedly. “That’s very good. Just give me a few more minutes...”

Fenris waited tensely as Hawke and Dorian worked. He could hear the screeching of demons and the clash of weapons outside the door. His palms were sweaty on the handle of his greatsword, and he wiped them hastily on his trousers before resuming his grip.

Then something heavy slammed into the door, and they all looked up in alarm at the impact. 

“Fuck,” Hawke hissed. “Dorian, how much longer?”

Another loud slam shook the door. “Not long,” Dorian snapped. “Just let me concentrate, will you?”

“All right. Keep going,” Hawke said. She stepped away and made her way down the dais. 

“Hawke,” Fenris blurted. 

She turned to look at him. Her face was set and calm, and something about her expression reminded him of Cassandra: not just the sternness, but the resolution he saw there. 

She was ready to die. He could see it in the set of her shoulders and the grim line of her lips. It was admirable and brave and absolutely, completely terrible, because it wasn’t _Hawke_. Hawke was a survivor, and she would fight like a wildcat to stay alive.

The woman standing before him wasn’t Hawke. Not _his_ Hawke, at least. And yet… 

_Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you._ Her words pierced his mind, words that he had said to her more than once, and he swallowed hard. “Forgive me,” he rasped. “I wish I could… save you.”

She smiled. “You will,” she said firmly. “You can do anything, Fenris. I always thought you would’ve been a great Inquisitor. I mean, you would have hated it, but you’d have been great.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Inquisitor?”

 _SLAM._ The door trembled once more, more forcefully than before, and Hawke’s smile fell away as she turned toward the door with her staff in hand. “All right, you fuckers,” she growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

Behind Fenris, Dorian clapped his hands once and stood up straight. “Finally. All right, one last push-”

The door burst open with a screech of metal and stone, and Varric’s lifeless body flew through the air and landed in a crumpled heap at Fenris’s feet.

He stared at Varric’s lifeless red eyes in horror, then lifted his face to see a veritable parade of demons piling into the room. 

“Come on!” Hawke bellowed. She thrust her staff at the demons and flung her opposite hand in Fenris’s direction.

A dome of blazing white light appeared around Fenris and Dorian, and Fenris stared at the barrier in awe. It was brilliant and warm and far stronger than the one Alexius had cast, and Fenris knew without a doubt that no demons would be able to make their way through it. 

He peered through the barrier. Hawke was spinning and thrusting her staff, throwing a constant stream of fire and ice and lightning at the demons that were pouring through, and the lyrium on her back was a blazing, livid red. 

He stared at her, transfixed and horrified in equal measure. Then Dorian called out to him. “Fenris! Come quickly!”

Fenris turned around, and his shoulders loosened slightly: there was a rift beside Dorian, a spinning drainlike rift that looked just like the one Alexius had thrown them through. He nodded at Dorian, then glanced through the barrier one last time. 

A huge, hideous demon grabbed Hawke around the waist and lifted her clear off her feet. 

Fenris’s stomach seized. “Hawke!” he roared. 

“Fenris, get over here!” Dorian hollered.

Fenris ignored him. The demon was crushing her, but she wasn’t even trying to fight back. 

She turned to look at him, and Fenris could see her mouth moving. He couldn’t hear her over the demon’s hair-raising shrieks, but the movement of her lips was clear. 

“I’m ready,” she said. “Go.” She smiled at him. Then the demon tore her head off. 

Fenris screamed. Then Dorian’s hand was grabbing his shoulder, and he was tumbling backwards, his cry of rage and denial trailing behind him like the breath that was being squeezed from his lungs as he and Dorian tumbled and swirled through the rift… 

His bare feet hit the ground. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then clumsily shoved himself upright.

Dorian landed beside him with considerably more grace, then casually smoothed out his robes. “Nice try, Alexius, but you’ll have to do better than that,” he said pleasantly.

“Fenris!” Hawke gasped. “Maker’s fucking balls. I was worried for a moment there.” 

Fenris whipped around wildly at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, he was disoriented: there was Alexius, on his knees with that defeated look on his face. But the hall was clean and warm, and Cassandra and Varric looked startled but healthy, and Hawke-

 _Hawke._

He ran toward her and roughly grabbed her arms. “You’re all right,” he muttered. He feverishly ran his palms along her arms, then cupped her face with both hands and carefully studied her eyes. 

They were wide with alarm, but the irises were amber. Dark, delicious amber, like honey fresh from the hive, and completely devoid of red. 

She grasped his wrists. “What’s wrong?” she squeaked. “You were only gone for a few seconds. Why is there blood on your hand?” She wilted slightly. “Fenris, did you kill someone?” 

He released a shaky breath. The blood was pounding in ears, and the relief surging through his veins was enough to make him feel faint. 

With great effort, he forced himself to release her. Then he strode back up the dais and grabbed Alexius by the collar of his robes. 

“Now hang on a minute,” Dorian protested.

Fenris ignored him and hauled Alexius to his feet. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t tear your heart from your chest,” he yelled.

Dorian took a step forward. “You can’t kill him in this timeline. We need him for information,” he said urgently. “He can explain what the Elder One is planning next.”

“Not good enough,” Fenris snarled. Now that they knew Corypheus was behind this, they didn’t need Alexius’s help. He lifted his fist and brought his lyrium marks to life. 

Then Hawke was beside him. “Fenris, it won’t help,” she said urgently. “It won’t make you feel better.” She stepped even closer to him and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “Think of Hadriana, all right?” she murmured. “Killing her didn’t make you feel better. It didn’t fix anything. It just made you more angry.”

He shot her a dirty look. “This is not the same.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure? I mean, I have literally no idea what’s going on, but are you sure it’s not a revenge killing?”

He glared at her. Her expression was wheedling, and her eyes: her beautiful clear copper eyes…

Then Felix took a small step forward. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t kill him. He’s the only family I have.”

Fenris shot Felix a hard look, then glared at Alexius. The magister’s face was slack with despair, and his eyes were downcast. 

Fenris snorted in disgust, then dropped Alexius on the ground. He looked up at the nearest Inquisition agent and waved a dismissive hand at the magister. “Chain him. Take him to Haven.”

Cassandra nodded in approval and shot him a quick smile. She turned away to give orders to the other Inquisition agents in the hall, and Fenris turned back to Alexius and the others. 

Felix was crouching beside his Alexius and holding his hands. “It’s going to be all right, Father,” he said softly. 

“But you’ll die,” Alexius said. His face was glazed with tears, and for the first time, Fenris noticed how old he was. Alexius was younger than Danarius had been, but somehow he seemed twenty years older than Fenris’s former master.

Felix offered his father a half-smile. “Everyone dies,” he said. 

Two Inquisition agents shackled Alexius’s hands and helped him to his feet, then led him away. Felix gave Fenris a quick bow. “Thank you for stopping him,” he said softly. Then he hurried after his father with four more Inquisition agents in tow.

Dorian watched their departure in silence. Then he smiled brightly and dramatically dusted off his hands. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with.” He shot Fenris an appraising look. “Now, about that glowy-fisting thing you do…”

Fenris rolled his eyes in annoyance, and Hawke snickered. “We’ve officially found our Isabela,” she said. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at her, but he couldn’t help but smile at her cheeky face. Before he could reply, he was distracted by the sound of marching. 

“Uh-oh,” Varric said. He grimaced at Fenris. “I hope you guys are ready for company…” 

They all watched in stunned silence as a small contingent of Fereldan soldiers marched into the hall followed by two richly-dressed people, one of whom Fenris recognized.

“Alistair?” Hawke said in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Oh!” Alistair said. He seemed just as surprised to see them. “Hello, Hawke. Fenris,” he said with a nod. Then he glanced at the Queen - at least, Fenris assumed she must be the Queen - and straightened up. 

He looked past Hawke and scowled at Fiona, who had been standing silently beside the fireplace this whole time. “Grand Enchanter, we’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality,” he announced. 

Fiona stepped forward and bowed. “King Alistair. Queen Anora,” she said in a trembling voice.

The Queen glared at her. She seemed considerably angrier than Alistair. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive our people from their homes!”

Alistair nodded officiously. “You and your followers have worn out your welcome. Leave Ferelden, or we will be forced to make you leave.”

Fiona twisted her hands together anxiously. “But we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” 

Hawke shot him a pleading little grimace, and Fenris gritted his teeth. _This_ was what he’d been dreading all this time. They’d stopped Alexius’s damned time magic, yes, but that left the rebel mages just as unmoored as they’d been before, and that was unacceptable. And with the Inquisition needing help to close the blasted Breach… 

He sighed heavily. _It doesn’t matter what I want,_ he thought bad-temperedly. _This blasted mess is bigger than that._

He looked at Fiona. “You and your people will be leaving here with the Inquisition,” he said. 

Hawke clapped her hands happily, and Fenris tried hard not to scowl. But the scowl appeared anyway when Fiona’s anxious face became suspicious. 

“What are the terms of this arrangement?” she asked. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You would dare ask me that, after what you almost brought upon us?” he demanded.

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra said. She was also frowning at Fiona. “They’ve proven what they’ll do, given too much freedom.”

“If we conscript them, we’re no better than Alexius!” Hawke retorted. 

Fenris turned his frown on Hawke. “I refuse to see another debacle like this,” he said. He waved angrily at Fiona. “This mage’s decision-making was flawed. It is too much power for one person to hold. She…”

He broke off suddenly. An idea had just occurred to him: one that Cassandra would probably be pleased with.

Hawke most certainly would not. But that was a risk Fenris would have to take. 

He turned back to Fiona. “You are not conscripted. The Inquisition will shelter you, but only if you accept two other mages as joint leadership: Solas and Rynne Hawke.”

“ _What?_ ” Hawke blurted. 

Fenris ignored her and watched Fiona. She studied him for a moment, then bowed her head. “I accept.”

“Fenris, no!” Hawke hissed. She grabbed his arm. “Why me? I don’t want to help lead the rebel mages. It’s too much-”

He twisted his arm out of her grip and cupped her cheek in his palm. “Because I trust you,” he hissed. “If you are so fond of these rebels and their rights, you can help steer them away from further stupidity.” He lowered his voice to a growl. “You said I could make decisions. _This_ is my decision, and I will not change my mind.” 

She glared at him viciously, then pushed his hand away from her face. “Fine,” she spat. “ _Fine._ Pardon me, then, while I go and tell Solas the good news.” She stormed away.

Fenris scowled at the indignant line of her spine as she walked away. Then Dorian cleared his throat. “Don’t mind me if I join her,” he said. “Help her celebrate her new position. Or drown her woes, depending on the way the day goes.” He sidled away and followed Hawke toward the door.

Fenris pursed his lips, then turned back to Alistair. “Are you satisfied?” he said. 

The Queen recoiled slightly at his bluntness, but Alistair nodded. “I’m quite satisfied.” He looked at the Queen. “Shall we?”

She narrowed her eyes at Fenris, then nodded. “Good day, serrah,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and began to walk away. 

Alistair gave Fenris a quick casual wave, then turned and followed his wife. He leaned toward her and spoke very quietly as they walked away, but Fenris’s sharp ears caught his words quite clearly. “And people think _we_ bicker.”

“Do shut up, Alistair,” the queen muttered. 

Fenris huffed to himself, then turned back to Fiona, who bowed to him. “I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven,” she said. She raised her chin, and Fenris saw a hint of the calm and confident mage he’d met in Val Royeaux. 

“The Breach will be closed,” she said. She gave him a faint smile. “You will not regret giving us this chance.”

“I had better not,” he warned.

She nodded once more and hurried away to see to her people, leaving Fenris alone in the castle with only Varric and Cassandra for company. 

He heaved a sigh of relief and exhaustion in equal parts. Then he looked at Cassandra and Varric to find them both smiling slightly at him. 

He raised an eyebrow. “What have I done to amuse the both of you?” he drawled. 

Cassandra simply shook her head. “Letting the mages be free, but making them more accountable… it is an impressive compromise.” She bowed her head slightly. “It is not the choice I would have made, but… perhaps that is the point.” She paused thoughtfully, then smiled at Fenris once more. “We are truly fortunate that the Maker sent you to our aid.”

Fenris eyed her cautiously. He was still uncomfortable with the idea that the Maker or Andraste had imbued him with some kind of special purpose. “Cassandra, I don’t-“ 

She held up a hand to stall him. “I know you are still questioning,” she said. “But I believe it, and that is enough.” She took a step back. “I will accompany the magister and his son back to Haven. We will leave tonight.”

 _Tonight?_ Fenris thought. Was it not already the middle of the night? Then he rubbed his forehead. The so-called ‘time’ he’d spent in that terrible dark future was toying with his mind. 

He was exhausted. He lowered his hand and nodded to Cassandra. “Thank you,” he said.

“You are most welcome,” she said. With a last small smile, she turned and left.

“I think she likes you,” Varric teased. “I didn’t know she was capable of liking… well, anything.”

 _She certainly liked you in that terrible future timeline,_ Fenris thought wryly. He sighed once more, then looked down at Varric. “I am in desperate need of a drink,” he confessed. 

Varric chuckled. “To the tavern, then. The others will wanna know what happened.” He shot Fenris a sideways look as they walked toward the castle entrance. “In fact, _I’d_ love to know what happened. You look like hell. What in Andraste’s sacred ass did you do?” 

Fenris dragged a hand through his hair. “I will tell you eventually. But not now. It’s… I lived an entire day. Let us leave it at that.” 

Varric shrugged affably. “All right,” he said. Then he pushed open the heavy castle door. 

Fenris recoiled and squinted. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was so damned bright. 

Varric laughed. “Wow. Now I really can’t wait to hear what you saw.”

Fenris shook his head as he followed Varric out into the blazing sunshine. “It was not good,” he said bluntly. “For instance, I saw you die.”

Varric’s smile immediately disappeared. “Oh,” he said. Then his face slackened with comprehension. “ _Oh,_ ” he said, more emphatically than before. His eyebrows crept up toward his hairline. “And I’m guessing that Hawke…?”

A pang of residual panic pierced Fenris’s heart, and he swallowed hard. “Yes,” he gritted. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

“Okay. Got it,” Varric said. They made their way to the Gull and Lantern in silence, and Varric pushed the door open and walked inside. 

Sera and Blackwall were sitting at one table, and Sera was laughing uproariously while Blackwall shook his head in exasperation. At another table in the corner, Hawke was sitting with Dorian and Solas, and Solas was smiling wryly while Dorian chuckled at some story that Hawke was telling.

Fenris frowned. Then he walked over to Blackwall and Sera’s table. 

Sera pulled a face at him as he and Varric sat. “ _Pfff._ Someone’s a thundercloud, aren’t they?” She popped up from the bench and stepped away from the table. “Not ruining _my_ mood, you’re not.” She playfully tugged Blackwall’s beard, then scampered away.

Fenris frowned after her. “Where is she off to?” he asked. 

Blackwall chuckled. “Flirting with all the dwarven girls, that’s where. She calls them ‘littles’.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder if they find that offensive?”

“Some of them do, yeah,” Varric deadpanned. He gestured to the bartender.

“Oh. Right,” Blackwall said. His cheeks began to turn pink. “My apologies, Varric.”

Varric smiled and waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Not worth ruffling your mustache over.”

Blackwall snorted, then sipped from his tankard before looking at Fenris. “I hear you brokered an alliance with the mages. A bold choice,” he said. 

He sounded approving, and Fenris frowned a bit more deeply. He still wasn’t sure it had been the right choice, if truth be told. 

“And unexpected,” Varric added. He shook his head with a smirk. “ _You,_ siding with mages? _And_ letting them govern themselves, more or less?”

Fenris grunted. “Do not remind me of my hypocrisy. Or of the irony of the situation. I am well aware of both.”

“Hey, no judgment here,” Varric said. “A lot of us are doing things we didn’t expect. I mean, look at me. I’m still here.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at him. “You are here because of Hawke and I. That is what you said before, at least.” He nodded gratefully as a serving girl brought a tray of drinks to the table. 

“Yeah, I did,” Varric said slowly. He tapped his fingers on his tankard. “But… I don’t know, Fenris. I think I’d be here whether you and Hawke were or not.” He shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Blackwall lifted his tankard. “Hear hear,” he said.

Fenris swallowed a mouthful of wine and raised an eyebrow at Varric. “All right, who are you and what have you done with Varric?”

Varric chuckled. “Heh. Cut me some slack. I’m not that unscrupulous.”

Fenris smirked and sipped his wine, and the three men sat in peaceful silence for a moment. Then Fenris gave Varric a slightly suspicious look. “So you think it is right to let the mages run themselves, despite everything.”

Varric shrugged. “It’s like what Isabela would say. It’s not about the mages, not really. It’s about choice. You made a choice to give _them_ a choice.”

“For what it’s worth, I support your decision to give them a second chance,” Blackwall said. “To make amends for their wrongs.” 

Fenris grunted and ran a finger along the rim of his glass. “We will see if they have earned it. I have my doubts.”

“Of course you do,” Varric said. He patted Fenris’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t be the broody elf we all know and love if you didn’t.” 

Fenris snorted into his wine. Then, thankfully, Varric shifted to the topic of diamondback, which Blackwall seemed to have a hilariously skewed understanding of. 

Fenris listened mindlessly to their soothing chat, but his eyes kept drifting over to the table where Hawke was sitting. She, Solas and Dorian seemed to be deep in discussion now; Dorian was tracing figures on the table with his finger while Solas shook his head, and Hawke kept trying to add to Dorian’s sketches, to his apparent dismay.

 _Probably discussing magic,_ Fenris thought resentfully. He took another gulp of his wine and forced his gaze back to Blackwall and Varric.

A minute later, he finished his wine, then rose from the table. “Excuse me,” he said to Varric and Blackwall. Then he made his way through the lively tavern toward Hawke’s table. 

As he drew level with the mages, Hawke glanced up at him, and her mischievous smile faded slightly. Then she looked away from him to listen to Solas’s argument. 

_Still angry, then,_ Fenris thought. He hesitated for a second, then pulled up a chair and sat beside Hawke.

“... which is why that little flare you are so proud of is wasteful, and not simply a showy flash as you imagine it to be,” Solas was sternly telling Dorian. 

Dorian waved his hand impatiently. “Solas, Solas, my dear man. You’ll see the next time we’re in a scrap. That little flare of mine holds enough electrical power to stun a handful of qunari if needed.”

“And if it is not needed?” Solas retorted. “Where do you suppose that energy goes?”

“Let me guess!” Hawke said. She stroked her chin playfully. “The Fade.”

Solas frowned at her levity. “Yes, precisely.” 

Dorian tutted. “Then the spirits will just get a little electrical massage, that’s all.”

Hawke snickered as Solas scowled, and Fenris began to regret coming to sit with them at all. 

Then Dorian turned to him with a smile. “Listen, Fenris. I was speaking with Solas, and we thought perhaps two heads are better than one when it comes to studying that mark of yours. What do you say?”

Fenris shook his head. “Thank you, Dorian, but no. One mage toying with my hand is more than enough.”

Dorian sighed wistfully. “It must be so strange for you, to ally with a pile of people you dislike so much.”

“I don’t dislike all mages,” Fenris said. “In fact, there are some of whom I am extremely fond.” He looked directly at Hawke, who had been avoiding his eye all this time.

She shifted slightly in her chair, but didn’t look at him. Dorian tilted his head. “Isn’t that sweet? Come now, Hawke, I think you should forgive him. Look at those big green puppy-” 

“There are no puppy eyes,” Fenris snapped. 

Solas leaned back in his chair. “I for one am grateful, Fenris,” he said quietly. “It is… I did not expect your confidence. It is an honour.” 

Fenris shrugged. His decision to include Solas in the mage leadership had largely been based on need: a majority vote would require three people, at least. But Solas’s understated manner, and his subtle and careful use of magic, made Fenris feel relatively comfortable with the idea of placing Solas in a position of some authority.

“Do not thank me yet,” Fenris said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Being the…” He couldn’t bring himself to say _leader._ “...primary decision-maker for a large group is far from the glorious honour that stories would make it out to be.” 

“A truth that few people realize,” Solas said softly. “It is good that you do.” 

Fenris glanced at him. His face was calm but strangely sad, and Fenris wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Solas had spent the day witnessing the complete downfall of civilization. 

“Well! If you’re all finished being morose, I suggest another round of drinks,” Dorian announced. He twisted around in his chair and snapped his fingers. “Varric! Come join us, and bring the bearded wildman with you. And a platter of drinks.” 

“I’m not your servant, Sparkler,” Varric called back. 

“Oh, pretty please?” Dorian pouted. “I’ll even pay for mine this time.”

Varric wrinkled his nose. “Then who’s been paying for your drinks all along?” He rose from the table with Blackwall in tow. 

“I don’t know. Someone,” Dorian said loftily. “Drinks just seem to appear before me, especially in a place like this. I am rather beautiful, in case you didn’t notice.” 

Varric snorted and pulled up a chair between Fenris and Dorian. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to drink anything if you don’t know where it came from?”

“Oh, you southerners couldn’t poison me,” Dorian scoffed. “Tevinter mages are raised on poison. It’s like mother’s milk to us. Or so we would have you believe.”

Fenris grunted. “That explains a great deal.”

Dorian grinned at him, then began picking on Blackwall for his beard, and the rest of the table swiftly joined in - save for Solas, who observed it all with his usual enigmatic smile. 

Fenris sat quietly as their happy chatter washed over him. It was both comforting and jarring after the terrible things he’d seen in the future, and as he listened to their banter and watched their laughing faces, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the versions of his companions that had lived through the horror of Corypheus’s victory. Maybe they had just disappeared once Dorian had reversed the spell, like Dorian seemed to think. But what if they hadn’t? What if there was some parallel world where Fenris and Dorian had simply abandoned Leliana and Cassandra and Varric and Hawke to die? 

He idly tapped his fingers on his knees. Then a set of slender fingers slid across the back of his hand. 

He looked at Hawke. She was smiling and laughing with the others still, but beneath the table, her fingers were curled between his own. 

Some of the tightness in his chest loosened at the squeeze of her hand. He exhaled slowly, and with every slow beat of his heart, relief and peace - and not a little bit of grief - seemed to pulse through his limbs. 

He slowly turned his hand over in her grip until they were holding hands palm-to-palm. Then, at last, Hawke faced him with a wry little smile. 

Her smile faded into concern as she met his eye. “Is everything all right?” she murmured. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, then leaned toward her. “Come with me upstairs,” he whispered in her ear. “Please.”

She nodded, and when Fenris pulled away to rise from his seat, her eyebrows were drawn in a frown. Fenris stepped away from the table and held out a hand to her, and he ignored Dorian’s ribald grin as he led her away from the table and toward the stairs to the upper level of the tavern, which double as an inn.

Hawke was quiet as they walked up the stairs. Fenris led her into one of the empty rooms, then closed the door behind them. 

Hawke folded her arms and smirked. “Is this where you apologize to me for throwing me into the lion’s jaws?” 

Fenris shook his head. “Will you take your shirt off?” he asked. 

Her eyebrows rose, and her smile both widened and sharpened. “Are you serious? After what you’re making me do, with the rebel mages-”

“Please, Hawke,” he begged. “Humour me.”

Her acidic smile melted away. She unfolded her arms and took a step toward him. “Fenris, what’s going on?” she asked softly. “What happened to you when Alexius made that odd rift appear? Something obviously happened, though I can’t imagine what since you were only gone for a few seconds.”

“It wasn’t a few seconds,” Fenris said. “It was hours. We were thrown a year into the future, and we were stuck in that cursed time for hours.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “ _Hours?_ What are you talking about?”

He moved closer to her, then began unlacing her leather vest. “We appeared in the dungeon of Redcliffe Castle. The Elder One is Corypheus, by the way, and Thedas was under his control. Dorian and I had to stumble around the castle like fools searching for Alexius so Dorian could use the blasted amulet and reverse the spell.”

“I - _what?_ Maker’s fucking balls,” Hawke breathed. 

Fenris pulled her vest off, but as he began untucking her shirt from her trousers, her worried expression deepened. 

“Fenris,” she said quietly, “what does any of that have to do with me taking off my shirt?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose, then rolled up the hem of her shirt. Hawke obediently lifted her arms, and Fenris peeled the garment over her head and tossed it aside. 

He reached for the laces of her bustier, but she reached up and took his hands to stop him. “Fenris,” she said insistently. “Talk to me. Please.”

His careful gaze traced the hint of black ink that curled at the juncture of her neck and left shoulder. Then he raised his eyes to her face. “I saw you in that future. You were infected with red lyrium.”

She inhaled sharply, and her face twisted with horror. “Like Meredith?” she breathed. 

“Yes. In a way,” he said slowly. 

She stared at him in silence, and her fingers briefly tightened over his. Then she released his hands. 

He plucked at the laces of her bustier, then pulled the leather garment off, leaving her torso bare. “Turn around,” he said. 

She quietly did as he asked, and Fenris released a long, slow breath. He skimmed his palm along her spine from the nape of her neck to the small of her back, and all the while, his greedy eyes traced the twisting lines of her tattoo. 

It was crisp and black on her smooth golden skin. Her clean, unblemished skin, free of the crimson corruption that haunted the backs of his eyelids when he closed his eyes. 

He ran his fingers over the span of the tattoo before lowering his lips to her shoulder. Hawke tilted her head to the side, and Fenris closed his eyes as he laid a line of kisses from her shoulder to her neck. He savoured the simple feel of her skin beneath his lips: so smooth and unmarred by any kind of crystalline formation. 

He ran his hand over her tattoo, reassuring himself of her health with every pass of his palm. He gently nipped her shoulder and enjoyed the plush resistance of her skin between his teeth, then slid his other hand around her waist to toy with the buttons of her trousers. 

She leaned back into his chest and curled her fingers over the back of his hand. “Fenris… don’t you want to talk more about this? It sounds really…” She released a shaky breath as he popped the last button on her fly, and Fenris wasn’t sure whether the sound of her breath was lustful or worried. 

Her next words made it clear. “You must have been so scared,” she whispered.

 _I was fucking terrified,_ he thought. The sight of her looking so pitiful, sickened and sobbing that everything was her fault, then sacrificing herself at the moment that he left her behind… 

A surge of distress rose in his throat like bile, and he swallowed it back, then walked her toward the bed. He gently pushed her forward onto her hands and knees. 

“Promise me something,” he said, then started taking off his own clothes. 

“Of course. Anything,” Hawke said. She was pulling off her trousers and boots as well. 

Fenris didn’t speak until he was naked. He crawled onto the bed and kneeled in front of her. 

He ran his fingers through her short dark hair, then cupped her face in his hands. “Promise me you will never give up,” he said. “Not even if something happens to me. If I - if anything terrible should happen…”

She shook her head emphatically and shuffled closer to him. Her expression was a combination of ferocity and fear. “Nothing terrible will happen to you,” she said. “I won’t let it.”

“Hawke, please,” he interrupted. “If I die, you must never give up. All right? I can’t - the thought - just…” He drew a painful breath, then glared at her. “Promise me,” he said fiercely. “You can never give up, not ever. If you ever… Rynne, I can’t-”

“Okay, okay,” she said. Her eyes were shining with distress, and her fingers were tightly gripping his waist. “I promise, all right? I won’t give up.” 

He swallowed hard and nodded. She was humouring him, he knew, and he would have to explain in detail why he was being so insistent if he wanted her to truly listen.

But he couldn’t right now. He couldn’t talk about her dying. He couldn’t think about it. All he wanted was to see how very _alive_ she was. 

He pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, then laid her back on the bed. Then, for the first time in an eternity, he kissed her raspberry-red lips. 

She curled her fingers in his hair, and he lifted her leg over his waist. With little further preamble, they were moving and breathing together in a gasping rhythm, and his heart was pounding with relief and sadness and painful, aching love. 

_There are worse things than dying,_ Felix had said. Seeing Hawke like that - infected and weak and, worst of all, _hopeless_ : that was confirmation that Felix’s words were true. With every gasping breath that Fenris released into Hawke’s parted lips, his resolve grew. 

Hawke would never know that dark future. She would never become that hollow, hopeless shell. In this bed in Redcliffe, with Hawke clasped in his arms, Fenris made himself a promise: he would protect himself and Hawke both, and he would never see Hawke like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elvhen phrase that Solas says to Fenris is from FenxShiral on AO3. _Eman solas i'mar eol_ means ‘I am proud of you’.
> 
> I haven’t played DA:O, so I hope Alistair and Anora were in character in that little cameo bit!
> 
> In the beginning of this chapter, I mentioned a conversation (i.e. argument) between Fenris and Merrill about helping disenfranchised elves. It’s reference to [this chapter I wrote from the canon romance timeline,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/40930982) if you want to check it out. (Beware; ‘tis smutty.) 
> 
> The next chapter may take a little longer, since I have other writing projects to work on; bear with me! And [feel free to stop by on Tumblr in the meantime!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	10. Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a talk-y chapter to wind down from last week’s adventure, complete with a _Mean Girls_ reference. (If you can’t make a _Mean Girls_ reference in your own fic, then what’s the point?)

Hawke sighed and irritably shook her left foot. “I think there’s a hole in my boot. My foot is soaked.”

“Both of my feet are soaked,” Fenris remarked. 

Hawke pouted. “Your feet are bare. They’ll dry in two seconds. It’s not the same.” 

He shrugged and continued his easy stroll across the lush verdant hills of the Storm Coast. “Nobody forced you to wear boots.”

Hawke scoffed and playfully pushed his arm. “We don’t all have hardened dragon’s hide for soles like you do. Chances are I would cut my feet open the second I took my boots off.”

On Hawke’s other side, Blackwall winced and briefly bowed his head. “I apologize, my lady.”

Hawke rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Blackwall, please, just call me Hawke. And what are you sorry for?”

“For dragging you out on this chase for Warden artifacts,” he said. “I spent some time here a few years ago. I’d forgotten just how, er, wet it was.” He squinted up at the sky, which had been steel-grey and spilling rain since they’d arrived yesterday afternoon.

Hawke waved him off. “Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault. Leliana wanted us to look for signs of the Wardens too, remember? Besides, I should have bought better boots before coming out to a place called the Storm Coast. Bit of a tip-off with the name, don’t you think?” She nudged Varric’s head with her elbow. “Almost _too_ on the nose, if you ask me. Whoever was in charge of naming this place clearly had no imagination.”

Varric smirked up at her. “You really should have worn better boots. I mean, even _I’m_ wearing waterproof boots, and you know how much I love this nature shit.”

“He makes a good point,” Fenris said to Hawke. “If the hopeless city dwarf is properly prepared for the elements, why aren’t you?”

Varric snorted at Fenris’s colourful epithet. Hawke, meanwhile, shrugged and innocently blinked at Fenris. “Honestly? I was hoping you would carry me in your big strong warrior’s arms if my feet got wet.”

Fenris gave her a chiding look, then scoffed. “You do not need to be carried. You are not a housecat.”

Her lips lifted into a slow and salacious smile, and Fenris wilted in exasperation. He could practically see the quip gathering itself in her mind: some foolish joke about him making her purr, he was certain.

“Don’t,” he warned. 

She laughed. “I didn’t say anything!”

He bit the inside of his cheek and forced his face to remain stern. “I know what you were thinking,” he said. “Do not say it.”

She grinned and pinched his chin playfully. “You know what? I’m glad I don’t have to. You just know me so well.”

He shook his head in exasperation. Then Solas’s voice floated over from about ten paces away.

“Blackwall,” he said. “I believe this may be the camp you sought.” 

Blackwall perked up, and they all followed him over to Solas’s side. Blackwall crouched beside the remains of the campfire, then dug around in the ashes for a moment before pulling out a dented metal crest.

He excitedly looked up at the rest of them. “It’s a Warden’s crest,” he said. Then his smile faded slightly as he turned it in his fingers. “We wear these on our coats, usually. This one must have been ripped off in a fight.”

“Oh, look here,” Hawke piped up. She was inspecting a few sodden pages of parchment, and as Blackwall rose to face her, she held them out to him. 

He took the pages, and his face lit up as he skimmed them. “Pages from a Warden’s journal,” he exclaimed. He beamed at Hawke. “An excellent find, my lady.”

Hawke folded her arms and smiled. “That’s what I’m known for: scavenging odd bits and pieces to cheer people up.” 

Varric snorted. “That’s one thing you’re known for, at least.” 

“Oh come on, Varric, that’s probably my favourite claim to fame,” she said. She raised her eyes wistfully to the stormy sky. “Rynne Hawke, Kirkwall’s finest retriever of lost and stolen junk. Truly, I would have preferred that over the title of Champion.” 

“Retriever of Junk,” Fenris mused. “A rather undignified title, but it would have saved you some grief, I’m certain.” 

She smiled and winked at him. Blackwall sat on a fallen log to read the journal pages, and as Varric moved away to read the pages as well, Fenris surreptitiously smoothed his hand down Hawke’s back. 

The mages at Redcliffe were making their careful journey back to Haven, accompanied by Cassandra and Dorian and a contingent of Inquisition soldiers. Fenris and Hawke had thus decided to come to the Storm Coast to follow up on that invitation from Cremisius Aclassi, and the rest of their companions had volunteered to come along - though Sera had promptly abandoned them in favour of Scout Harding as soon as they’d arrived. 

The journey from the Hinterlands to the Storm Coast had been relatively uneventful. This was not to say they hadn’t encountered foes; it seemed that no journey could be completely free of violence in these danger-laden days. But the enemies they’d encountered had been relatively normal ones: bandits, a few power-mad apostates, and only three small _non_ -time-bending rifts. By the time they’d reached Harding’s first outpost on the Storm Coast, Fenris was almost feeling back to his normal self in the wake of the entire time-travelling debacle in Redcliffe.

Almost.

The constant travel was helpful. It was a good distraction from the memories of Hawke’s glittering red eyes, which still lingered at the back of his unoccupied mind. Sleeping in a different place each night was also helpful, as it warded off the nightmares that sometimes plagued him still, even after leaving Danarius’s side. Sleeping in the same place for multiple nights in a row had always been something of a trigger for Fenris’s bad dreams, at least until he became more settled and comfortable. 

For this latter reason alone, Fenris was somewhat dreading the return to Haven. He was certain that the first few nights back in Haven would be heralded by a new set of red lyrium-related nightmares, and he was not looking forward to that. 

He ran his palm along Hawke’s back once more, taking comfort from the smooth curve of her shoulder blade beneath her lambswool cloak. Then she leaned in close and spoke in a quiet voice. 

“He’s kind of an odd Warden, don’t you think?” she murmured. Her thoughtful gaze was on Blackwall, who was listening seriously to Varric’s tale about their trip into the Deep Roads ten years ago.

Fenris scratched his chin. “How so? He has the same world-saving mentality as Stroud.”

“Yes, but he seems more… optimistic about it, don’t you think?” Hawke said. “Stroud is always so grim and serious. And it’s a bit weird that he’s so dewy-eyed over these Warden artifacts,” she added. “They’re his own order. He’s been one of them for years. You’d think he’d be over the hero worship by now. And seriously, why is he the only Warden who hasn’t disappeared? It’s strange, don’t you think?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. She made some very good points. “You think he is lying about his true role with the Wardens?” he whispered. “That he has some hidden purpose?”

Hawke shrugged. Her gaze was more curious than suspicious as she studied their burly companion. “I think he’s more committed to the Inquisition than he is to the Wardens. Good for us, but not great for them. If they know about him, that is.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You _do_ think he is lying, then.”

Hawke shook her head slowly. “Not lying, necessarily. But I think he has a story. He’s more than he seems.” She gave Fenris a mischievous smile. “That’s why his beard is so big. It’s full of secrets.”

Fenris snorted in amusement. Then Solas drew his attention. “Fenris,” he called. 

Fenris looked up, then approached the small hill where Solas was standing. He was gazing off toward the coastline, and Fenris’s eyes widened as he caught sight of what Solas had seen: a skirmish of sorts with at least twenty men. Most notable of all in the fight was a tall, horned, and unmistakable figure. 

“What is it?” Hawke asked. She squinted toward the coastline, then raised her eyebrows. “Ooh. Is that..?” 

“It must be the Iron Bull,” Fenris said. “The qunari mercenary captain we’re searching for.”

“Interesting,” Hawke said. She smiled at Fenris and Solas. “Let’s go introduce ourselves, shall we?”

The two men nodded, and with Varric and Blackwall in tow, they made their way toward the coastline in the direction of the fight. As they splashed their way through the river toward the coast, Fenris wondered about the qunari they were about to meet. 

The whole situation still struck him as odd. Not just the Tevinter second-in-command and the common-tongue nickname, but the idea of a qunari running a mercenary company at all. From Fenris’s understanding of the Qun, it was not the qunari way to exploit their considerable martial skills for monetary gain. Even the tal-vashoth they had once met on the Wounded Coast had scorned the idea of selling his skills for money. So how was it that a true member of the Qun was the leader of a mercenary band? 

_I suppose we will soon find out,_ he thought. They were about fifty paces away from the skirmish now, and before they could get any closer, Fenris held up a hand to stop the group.

“Let’s watch for a while longer,” he suggested. 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “They’re fighting a bunch of those Venatori. You don’t want to join in and help to tear them apart?”

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. “I absolutely will if necessary,” he said. “But that Aclassi fellow invited us to come and see what these Chargers are worth. I suggest we take him up on the offer.”

Hawke shrugged easily. “All right,” she said. She jerked her head to a nearby hill. “Shall we find some comfy seats from a higher vantage point? Some nice moss-covered boulders, perhaps?”

Varric huffed softly as they clambered up the hill. “Hardly my idea of a comfy seat, but sure.”

Blackwall chuckled. “The city dwarf needs more padding, eh?”

Hawke snickered, and Varric shot them a smirk. “You guys call me ‘city dwarf’ like it’s an insult, but I’ll have you know-” 

A deep, roaring belly laugh rumbled through the constant hiss of the rain, and they all stopped short in surprise. 

Hawke looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “Was that… a qunari laughing?”

“Yes, it was,” he confirmed. He adjusted the hood of his cloak and peered down toward the coastline; indeed, the qunari commander was grinning widely as he swung his battleaxe in a wide and sweeping arc. 

“I didn’t think qunari even knew how to laugh,” Varric remarked.

Hawke nodded in agreement. “ _I’ve_ certainly never seen it.”

Varric smirked. “Well, I mean, you were a little too busy freezing their Arishok and pulling his guts out to notice if they laughed or not.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Maker’s balls, Varric. You always make it sound like it was such an epic fight, when we all know I almost-”

“Hawke,” Fenris interrupted. “Please don’t.” He did _not_ need another reminder of a time that she’d almost died.

She broke off and grimaced apologetically, then folded her arms. “Did you ever hear the qunari laughing when you were observing them in Seheron?” she asked him.

Fenris tilted his head equivocally as he continued to watch the shoreline fight. “On rare occasions,” he said. “But qunari rarely drop their guard around foreigners. Certainly not enough to laugh with such abandon.”

Hawke hummed in acknowledgement, and they watched the rest of the fight in silence. By the time the final Venatori mage was downed, Fenris was convinced of the Chargers’s value.

The members of the mercenary company clearly knew each other well. There were about a dozen of them on the field, and from the seamless way they moved around each other, it was clear to Fenris’s battle-savvy eye that they were either deeply familiar with each other’s strengths and vulnerabilities, or that the Iron Bull was an outstanding commander who was able to place his people to their best advantage. In all likelihood, it was a combination of both. 

Blackwall seemed to agree; he folded his arms and nodded in approval. “Mercenaries they might be, but they can certainly fight.”

“Yes,” Solas said thoughtfully. “And with only one mage among them. It takes considerable creativity to function so well in battle with so little magical contribution.” 

Fenris nodded slowly. He might not be pleased to admit it, but Solas had a good point; the years he’d spent with Hawke had made him see the value of a strong barrier and a well-aimed blast of fire or ice, not to mention the not-inconsiderable boon of a healer mage’s restorative abilities.

“Creativity… yes, that is accurate,” he said slowly. He jerked his chin toward the shoreline. “Let’s go speak to them.” 

They made their way down the slope toward the blood- and body-strewn beach. The Iron Bull was seated on a nearby boulder wiping his blade with a cloth, and as Fenris and the others made their approach, he called out to his second-in-command in a booming voice. “Krem! How’d we do?”

His accent was only faintly tinted with Qunlat. Another surprise, since most qunari either did not speak the common tongue at all, or with a heavy accent. 

“Four wounded, Chief,” Aclassi replied. “None dead.” 

“That’s what I like to hear,” The Iron Bull announced. He slid his enormous axe onto his back. “Let the throat-cutters finish up here, then break out the casks.”

Aclassi gave a brisk salute, then trotted off to speak to some of his comrades. Then the Iron Bull turned his head toward Fenris and his companions. 

He grinned as he spotted them with his one good eye, and Fenris felt another jolt of surprise at the friendly expression. 

“So,” the Iron Bull said. “You’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it.” He ushered them over. “Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.” 

Fenris was nonplussed. This kind of geniality was not at all what he’d been expecting. 

He nodded cautiously to the Iron Bull. “ _Shanedan. Ebasaam esaam kost._ ”

The Iron Bull looked at him sharply, then threw his head back and laughed. He waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, no need for that, we’re all friends here. Come on, sit your asses down.” He gestured more insistently for them to take a seat. 

Fenris cautiously sat on a rock beside the Iron Bull, and Varric and Blackwall sat on some boulders as well. Hawke, on the other hand, smoothed her cloak down under her bottom and plopped down directly on the rocky beach. “Drinks are coming, you said?” She smiled up at Fenris. “I like him already.”

The Iron Bull grinned widely at her, and Fenris sighed quietly. He gestured to the nearest dead Tevinter. “This was impressive,” he said. “Your group works together well.”

“That we do,” the Iron Bull said proudly. “We’re expensive, but worth it. And you’re not just getting the boys: you’re getting me.” He rose to his feet to tower over them all and placed his hands on his thick, muscular waist. “You need a front-line bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons… the bigger, the better.”

“You’re in luck, then,” Blackwall said. “There’s a dragon on the shoreline to the east, just that way.” He pointed along the coast.

“It was fighting a giant,” Varric added. “Pretty crazy stuff.”

The Iron Bull’s eyes lit up. “You’re joking. That’s bad-ass!” 

Hawke stared at him in surprise, then laughed. “I suppose it rather was, yes,” she said, then looked at Fenris with a smirk and raised eyebrows. 

He shook his head slightly, feeling more and more perplexed by this Iron Bull. He was nothing like the qunari Fenris had met in Seheron or in Kirkwall.

He scratched the back of his head, then shrugged and rested his elbows on his knees. “I should ask how much your company will cost the Inquisition,” he said. Josephine had said the Inquisition had some gold from the late Justinia, as well as contributions from the few nobles whose support was trickling in, but it wouldn’t do to spend it all on one mercenary company.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” the qunari captain said. “Your ambassador - what’s-her-name, Josephine? We’ll go through her, get the payment set up. Gold will take care of itself; don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.” 

Then his jovial expression sobered slightly. “Before you sign us on...” He trailed off, then beckoned for Fenris to follow him. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow, but rose to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawke starting to rise as well. 

He glanced at her and surreptitiously held up a reassuring hand. She frowned but settled back on the beach with Blackwall, Varric and Solas, and Fenris followed the Iron Bull a short ways away from the others.

When they were out of the humans’ earshot, the Iron Bull folded his arms. “There’s one other thing,” he said. “Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Yes. They are the branch of the qunari that handles security and intelligence, are they not?”

The Iron Bull gave Fenris an appraising look. “You do know a thing or two about us, don’t you? But yeah, you’re right. The Ben-Hassrath handle everything: information, loyalty, security, all of it. They’re spies, basically. Or, well… _we’re_ spies.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, and the Iron Bull nodded his head in acknowledgement before going on. “The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere,” he said. “I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

Fenris stared flatly at him. “Would your superiors approve of you admitting this?” he drawled. “It appears counterintuitive for a spy to admit that they are, in fact, a spy.”

The Iron Bull casually hitched his thumbs into his belt. “Look, I’m a bottom-line kind of guy. Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed, and I’ve heard that you’re the people to get it done. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“For now,” Fenris retorted. “Until you receive directives to the contrary from Par Vollen.”

“You sign me on with the Inquisition, and I’ll make sure those directives don’t happen,” the Iron Bull reasoned. He tilted his horned head. “My people back home want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damned world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

Fenris folded his arms and lifted his chin. “And what exactly are you offering in return?”

“Aside from myself and my guys, you mean?” He shrugged and waved a careless hand. “Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip… it’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think our spymaster is a woman?” 

The qunari shrugged. “I did a little research. Plus,” he smirked, “I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

Fenris frowned, then glanced toward the others. Solas was openly watching them with a frown on his face, and Fenris had no doubt that the elven mage’s keen hearing was picking up everything they were saying. Varric and Blackwall were chatting casually while Hawke listened with a smile, but Fenris could see the slightly worried crease of her eyebrows. 

He turned back to the Iron Bull. “I will speak with my companions,” he said. Then he walked back to join the others. 

He crouched beside Hawke, who immediately turned toward him. “What’s going on?” she asked. 

“He is a qunari spy,” Solas said quietly. He was still staring daggers at the Iron Bull.

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up, and Varric winced. “Oh. Shit. The Seeker won’t be happy about that.”

Fenris looked at them all in turn. “He is offering qunari intelligence in exchange for the reports he will send back to Par Vollen,” he said. 

Varric rubbed his chin briefly. “I guess that’s something. Nightingale could make use of that. Maybe he’ll hand over something that could help us track down ol’ Corypheus.” 

“But is that worth the risk?” Fenris muttered. “He admitted that the qunari’s main goal is to close the Breach. Once it’s sealed, he could turn on us at any moment.”

“What if we make friends with him?” Hawke suggested. “Make it hard for him to betray us? We made friends with Tallis, after all, and she didn’t abandon us.” Her tone was light, but Fenris could see the worry in the tilt of her eyebrows. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Hawke that Tallis had lied about her qunari identity in the first place, but Solas spoke before he had the chance. “That will not work,” Solas said firmly. “The Ben-Hassrath are the most insidious agents of the Qun. They are tasked with policing the thoughts of their own people as well as those they conquer. It will not be possible to manipulate him in that way.” 

Hawke clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Well, there goes my favourite strategy.” She looked at the others. “So… is that a no, then?”

Blackwall sighed. “A shame, that. They’re strong fighters. Would have been helpful in any number of battles.”

Fenris, meanwhile, was watching Solas. He didn’t think he had ever seen Solas look so disapproving before. “You think we should not bring him in?” Fenris asked. 

“On the contrary,” Solas said. He finally shifted his steel-grey gaze to Fenris’s face. “If you allow him to join the Inquisition, Leliana’s spies can monitor him. There are times when careful observation can be more telling than spoken words. Knowledge is power, is it not?” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes briefly. He seemed to be hearing this a lot lately. Not that he disagreed with the idea by any means, but still.

He ran a hand over his hood, then glanced at the Iron Bull. He was smiling and talking to Aclassi, who was grinning back. To Fenris’s eyes, they looked very much like friends. 

A qunari making friends with a Tevinter human and running a band of non-qunari mercenaries… It could certainly all be based orders from Par Vollen, but the Iron Bull’s manner still struck him as extremely odd for a faithful member of the Qun. 

He rose to his feet. “Thank you,” he said to the others, then he returned to the Iron Bull’s side. 

“So?” the qunari captain said. “Are we celebrating, or are we moving on?”

Fenris folded his arms. “You are hired, on one condition. You will run your reports past the spymaster before you send them out. If she disapproves, they do not get sent.” 

The Iron Bull smiled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Fenris nodded. Then he took a slow step closer to the Iron Bull and switched to Qunlat. “ _Your duty is to your people. My duty is to mine,_ ” he said quietly. “ _The woman and the dwarf are under my protection. If anything you do brings harm to them, I will rip your beating heart from your chest._ ”

The Iron Bull stared at him for a moment. Then a slow, broad grin bloomed across his rugged face.

He let out a rolling belly laugh, then slapped Fenris on the shoulder. “You know what? I believe it.” He grinned at Aclassi. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired.”

Aclassi wilted slightly. “What about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes.”

The Iron Bull shrugged and tucked his thumbs into his belt once more. “Find some way to seal ‘em up! You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at the distasteful joke. Then the qunari captain turned back to face him. “We’ll have drinks sometime, you and I. I want to know how a _bas_ like you knows our language. Your accent’s pretty bad, but your grammar is surprisingly good.”

Fenris scowled briefly; Tallis had criticized his accent too. 

He lifted his chin and looked the Iron Bull directly in the eye. The qunari wasn’t going to like what Fenris was about to tell him. “I spent some time in Seheron. I fought alongside the fog warriors.”

The Iron Bull froze for an instant. It was just a brief instant, the span of a second and the blink of an eye, but Fenris saw it. 

Then the qunari warrior shifted his weight and nodded as though he was impressed. “You don’t say?” he said. “Well. We definitely should catch a drink together sometime.” He turned away and waved one gigantic hand in farewell. “We’ll meet you back at Haven,” he said, then sauntered away to rejoin his men. 

Fenris huffed very quietly. Then he turned away and made his way back to Hawke and the others. 

“Come on, don’t keep us in suspense,” Hawke said. “What did you decide?”

Fenris sat beside her. “His company has joined the Inquisition. His reports will go past Leliana first.”

Solas and Varric nodded in approval. “A good compromise,” Blackwall said.

Hawke placed one hand on Fenris’s knee. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

He looked at her, then realized he was frowning. “Oh,” he said. “There was an odd moment. I told him I was in Seheron with the fog warriors, and he… reacted.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I wonder if perhaps I fought him there.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped, and she laughed. “Well, that’ll be awkward.” 

“Ah, you’re both civilized men,” Blackwall said. “Take him to a tavern for drinks and talk it over.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Blackwall; he couldn’t be sure if he was kidding or not. 

Varric, meanwhile, snorted with laughter. “Drinks between a qunari and an elf with a known history of ripping out perfectly functional organs? That sounds like a great plan.”

“Oh Varric, you have so little faith,” Hawke complained. “I think it’s a brilliant strategy! Especially since this Bull fellow obviously enjoys a good drink.”

Varric smirked. “So we’re calling him ‘Bull’ now, are we?”

Hawke scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m certainly not calling him ‘The Iron Bull’ every time I have to address him. Can’t be bothered to waste my breath.”

Varric tilted his head thoughtfully. “I dunno, Hawke. I think we should call him ‘Tiny’.”

Blackwall snorted with amusement, and Hawke burst into raucous laughter. “Yes!” she exclaimed. She slung an arm around Varric’s neck. “I love that. It’s perfect.” She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye, then looked up at Solas. 

She tilted her head. “Solas, why so serious still? I thought this was what you wanted.”

Solas’s pensive frown cleared slightly as she addressed him. “Yes,” he said. “I… yes. Given the choices presented, I believe Fenris made the right one.” He turned his head to watch as Bull and his Chargers cleaned up the beach and readied their gear for the trip to Haven. 

He sighed, then spoke quietly. “Freedom is a constant fight. A battle that may never cease.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Solas turned back to face them.

He smiled faintly as he met Hawke’s wide eyes. “Forgive me. The musings of a man who has had too little sleep,” he said. He bowed his head slightly to Fenris. “Shall we move on?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said cautiously. He, Hawke, Varric and Blackwall rose to their feet, and soon they were all hiking across the hilly landscape once more and searching for clues about the Wardens’ presence, or lack thereof.

As they traversed the mountainous landscape, Blackwall asked Hawke, Varric and Fenris about their time in Kirkwall. Fenris left it to Varric and Hawke to tell the majority of the stories, interjecting on occasion to correct some of Varric’s more outlandish embellishments if Hawke was too busy laughing to do so herself. 

Blackwall led the way under the sodden arching bough of a pine tree, then lifted the bough politely so the others could pass. “I’m curious, though,” he said to Varric. “Hawke said your book ends at the point when you all fled Kirkwall. Two years later, the three of you are here. What about the others?” He looked at Hawke. “Where’s your brother, for instance?”

“Ah, Carv,” Hawke said. “He’s actually still a Templar, and still in Kirkwall. But he mostly works for Aveline, hunting down abominations and such. No Circle left for him to guard, you see.”

She smiled as she spoke, and her tone was pleasant. Fenris reached over and briefly squeezed her hand. She shot him a quick little smile, but Fenris could see the sadness in her amber eyes. 

Blackwall hummed with interest. “So Aveline is still in Kirkwall as well.”

“Yep,” Varric said. He clambered effortfully over a fallen tree, then sighed in annoyance before continuing. “She’s still Guard-Captain. I’m pretty sure Kirkwall would fall into the sea if she quit her job.”

Solas, who had been quiet since leaving the beach, spoke up. “What of Anders? The mage who incited the Rebellion?”

“He left Kirkwall with us,” Hawke replied. “But he didn’t stay. He…” She hesitated, then said, “He left immediately after we were clear of Kirkwall. We don’t know where he went.” 

“Probably to Tevinter,” Fenris muttered resentfully, and Hawke shot him an annoyed look.

Varric glanced at Blackwall with a raised eyebrow. “We don’t know where he is, and frankly, I don’t want to know.”

Blackwall’s gaze darted between the three of them, and his tone was slightly guarded as he spoke again. “What about Isabela?”

Hawke brightened and grinned. “Oh, she’s doing fantastic. She finally got that ship she wanted.”

Varric huffed in amusement. “She went back to the Raiders. She’s calling herself an admiral now. I’m not sure if she’s really in charge or just has a really big hat.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Might be the same thing, honestly.”

Hawke snickered and elbowed Blackwall. “She doesn’t have a cock to wave around, so she’s got to use a hat, see?”

Blackwall coughed out a little laugh before speaking again. “I heard that Sebastian Vael was crowned the Prince of Starkhaven.” 

Hawke _harrumph_ ed. “And I bet he’s really pleased about it, too.” She gave Fenris a mock-thoughtful look. “Do you think he’s still celibate now that he’s a prince again? I’m still convinced that he was so uptight because of the whole no-sex married-to-Andraste thing.”

Fenris shook his head as he gingerly stepped over a dead and decomposing nug. “Of course his sex life is the thing you wonder about since he’s been gone.”

Hawke hopped over the nug as well, then widened her eyes and linked her arm with his. “Of course it is. Who do you think you’re speaking to?”

He scoffed, and Hawke smiled. Then Solas spoke again.

“And the Dalish mage. Merrill,” he said. He looked at Hawke. “You mentioned once that she was the last one to take her leave from you and Fenris?” 

Fenris stiffened slightly at the mention of Merrill, and Blackwall looked at Varric in surprise. “She was?” he said. “I thought _you_ were the last to leave.”

Varric grimaced and shook his head. “Nah. I left a few months after Isabela. Went back to Kirkwall to try and help set things straight.” 

“Oh,” Blackwall said. He looked at Fenris curiously. “What is Merrill up to now?” 

Hawke’s fingers tensed slightly at the inside of his elbow. Then she released his arm.

Fenris glanced at Blackwall and Solas. “We don’t know,” he said.

Blackwall’s frown deepened. “You don’t? Why…?” His eyes widened. “Did something bad happen to her?”

“No, no,” Hawke said hastily. “Nothing like that. She just, err….” She glanced quickly at Fenris, then looked away and briefly scratched the left side of her ribs. 

Fenris scowled. He did not want to talk about this with Blackwall and Solas, but forcing them to drop the issue would only make things more awkward, and Hawke was clearly feeling awkward enough already. 

He faced Blackwall and Solas fully. “I had an argument with her. We had… strong differences of opinion, and she left.”

It was all they needed to know. The rest wasn’t their business. They didn’t need to know that Fenris and Merrill almost came to blows, or that Hawke had to physically place herself between them to stop the fight from happening. 

They didn’t need to know how Fenris had yelled at Hawke like he hadn’t done in years. And they didn't need to know that she’d basically been forced to send Merrill away to calm him down.

A now-familiar surge of shame burned his stomach at the memory. He looked away from Solas and Blackwall and reached for Hawke’s hand. 

She laced her fingers with his, but continued to avoid his eye. An uncomfortable moment later, Blackwall cleared his throat. “Solas,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got a question about spirits for you.”

Fenris was grateful for the clumsy topic change, and even more grateful when Solas swiftly latched onto it. “Certainly,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” Blackwall said, “you make friends with spirits in the Fade. Are there any that are more than just friends?”

Fenris, Varric, and Hawke all looked up in surprise. Solas, on the other hand, immediately scowled. “Oh, for... really?” he complained. 

Blackwall innocently lifted his hands. “Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!”

“For a twelve-year-old,” Solas retorted, but Fenris noticed that his ears were turning faintly pink. 

Hawke clearly noticed it too; her expression was slowly morphing from surprise into delight. 

Blackwall’s face was wreathed in the kind of shit-eating grin that Fenris was used to seeing on Hawke’s face. “It's a simple yes or no question,” he said.

“Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple,” Solas said. “Especially not that!”

“Oh, Solas,” Hawke crooned. “Your face is turning red.” She grinned at Varric. “He looks like Cullen when anyone mentions anything about underpants.”

Varric snorted. “Hawke, you’re the only one who ever mentions underpants around Cullen.”

Fenris ignored them. He frowned at Solas. “Are you saying you have had relations with demons?” he demanded.

Hawke snorted loudly, then slapped her hands over her mouth. 

Solas glared at Fenris. “I did not-” He broke off abruptly, then took a deep breath before speaking again. “Such a crude question belies the complexity of the situation,” he finally said.

Fenris came to a stop and folded his arms. “Explain it, then,” he said. 

Solas scowled. “The Chantry says demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living,” he said. “But such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations, and in so doing, do all a great disservice.” He took another deep breath, then lifted his chin and spoke in a more measured tone. “Spirits wish to join the living, and a demon is that wish gone wrong.”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “So you admit that spirits and demons are one and the same.”

Solas narrowed his eyes. “Yes and no,” he said. “Many spirits are a pure embodiment of a virtue or purpose. Love, for example, or wisdom. Demons arise when a spirit is corrupted from its original purpose. And the most common source of such corruption is contact with the world in which we now live.”

“That’s all it takes? Contact with our world?” Hawke asked. The juvenile humour was gone from her face, replaced with open curiosity instead.

Solas shrugged sadly. “For many lesser spirits, yes,” he said. “This world is illicit and unnatural for them. They fight to gain entrance, but when the rules of this world do not mirror theirs, they lash out. Tragic, but not evil.” 

Fenris was hardly reassured. “So you are saying that any spirit who enters our world becomes a demon,” he said flatly. He turned to Hawke. “I _knew_ Anders was an abomination from the start. Trying to tell us that his blasted vengeance demon was-”

“A spirit of justice?” Solas interrupted. 

Fenris turned back to him with narrowed eyes. “Yes,” he said suspiciously. “How…?”

Solas bowed his head slightly. “This is another way that spirits become corrupted: through contact with the darker impulses of the people who live in this world.” He sighed once more. “Men are rife with such impulses: anger, ambition, greed. These are corrupting influences, and demons are a reflection of that corruption.”

Hawke nodded thoughtfully, but Fenris raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You mean to tell us you have had relationships with beings whose nature is so mutable?” he demanded. “Beings who can shift from one thing to the complete opposite based solely on the person they are in contact with?”

“And what exactly do you think happens when corporeal beings like you or I foster relations with each other?” Solas said pointedly. “Do you think your nature so immune to corruption by the mistreatment of others? Do you truly see yourself unchanged by the people you befriend? By the people you choose to love?” He gestured at Varric and Hawke. 

“‘Choose’ being the crucial word,” Fenris retorted. “There is no two-sided relationship with demons. There is only possession.” 

“That is incorrect,” Solas said bluntly. “There is voluntary joining, and involuntary joining. The involuntary kind is what you think of as possession. This is the purview of demons. The voluntary kind, on the other hand… I understand that it can be transformative for those who are fortunate enough to experience it.”

“And you know this how?” Fenris said shrewdly. “You told me that you set wards so you do not become possessed in the Fade. Was that a lie?”

“It is possible to have a conversation with a spirit without becoming possessed by them,” Solas said acerbically. “Just as it is possible to speak to a person without entering into sexual relations.”

At long last, Blackwall spoke up. “So you _do_ admit that sex was involved.”

Varric coughed, and Solas rubbed his face in frustration. “ _Fenedhis lasa. Teldirthalelen,_ ” he muttered. He turned on his heel and took two steps away, then suddenly turned toward Fenris once more. 

“Do you scorn every being whose nature is unlike yours?” he demanded. “Whose mode of being you do not understand?” 

“I tend to have scorn for any being whose primary objective is to kill me, yes,” Fenris retorted.

Solas shook his head emphatically. “That is the - what I’m trying to explain-” He abruptly stopped, and Fenris could see the muscles clenching in his jaw. 

He took a deep breath, then lifted his chin. “You have never met a spirit in its purest form,” he said. “Untouched and uncorrupted by the desires of man. Perhaps you will one day, if you are fortunate.” 

His voice was calm, but his eyes were hard as stone. Fenris curled his lip skeptically, but didn’t answer. He and Solas stared at each other tensely for a moment longer.

Then Solas glanced briefly at Hawke, who had been watching the argument in wide-eyed silence. “Please excuse me,” he said to her, then turned and strode away.

They watched him go in silence. Hawke pulled a face at Fenris. “Wow. You actually made him angry,” she remarked. “I didn’t think he even got angry. He’s usually so… you know…”

“Placid?” Varric suggested. 

“Exactly,” Hawke said. 

Fenris grunted noncommittally. “We should move on. We’ll need to be on our way to Haven by tomorrow. The mages should be rested enough to close the blasted Breach by the time we get back.” 

“Good plan,” Blackwall remarked as they followed in Solas’s wake. “Besides, I have a bet with Sera to follow up on.”

Hawke looked at him quizzically. Then she grinned. “Andraste’s sacred knickers,” she breathed. “Is that why you asked him that question about sex with spirits?”

Blackwall smirked, and Hawke burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s terrible,” she crowed. “You and Sera are terrible, horrible people.” She flung her arms around Blackwall’s broad body in an impulsive hug. 

Blackwall chortled, and Varric laughed along with them, but Fenris couldn’t crack a smile. The argument with Solas was disturbing him more than he cared to admit. Until this point, he and Solas had gotten along relatively well, all things considered. Neither of them was particularly prone to idle chatter, and Fenris appreciated Solas’s quiet. They seemed to have similar feelings about a number of things, including Tevinter and the Qun. Fenris had always known that Solas had an odd preoccupation with the Fade, but Solas was such a humble mage that Fenris had believed his talk about wards and precautions and careful dreamwalking. But he hadn’t known that Solas’s attitudes about spirits and demons were quite this lenient. 

There had been no reason to think Solas was so liberal about demons. The elvhen mage had fiercely fought every demon they’d encountered thus far. Knowing now that Solas was open to befriending them…

_But it’s the spirits that Solas spoke of befriending, not the demons,_ Fenris thought. If Solas was to be believed, then spirits and demons were two sides of a coin. They were the same, but also... not.

Fenris shook his head. There was no evidence to back up Solas’s claims. Every time anyone had ever spoken of spirits - Anders and his blasted justice, and Merrill with her damned spirit of wisdom - what they’d really meant was demons.

But there was that one point Solas had made. The point about corporeal people being just as strongly affected - or corrupted - by the people around them… 

At that moment, Hawke came up beside him. “Hello,” she said. “Everything all right?”

Her voice was still curled with laughter, and her cheeks were pink with it. Her expression was soft and warm, and for a brief moment, Fenris studied her. 

Loathe though he was to admit it, he could see Solas’s point. The person he was with Hawke was very different from the broken husk he’d been with Danarius. Fenris was happier because of Hawke. He was calmer. Less angry. More inclined to laugh. He was unequivocally a different person when he was around her, and it would be foolish to deny it. If that was true, then maybe… 

He reached out and linked his fingers with hers. “Do you believe him? Solas?” he asked. 

She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully before answering. “You know what’s funny?” she said. “I wasn’t raised in a Circle. But the more we travel and the more people we meet, the more I realize that my magical education was pretty much a Circle curriculum.” 

Fenris tilted his head curiously, and she elaborated. “My father taught us that demons were evil and separate from spirits. But the way Anders described his whole experience with Venjustice…” She shrugged. “If Solas is right, it would explain Anders’s situation. He started off all noble and stuff, and maybe a spirit of justice was attracted to that. Then he got angry, and his anger turned the spirit into a demon of vengeance.” She paused, and her eyes widened. “Wow. That theory is actually a perfect fit.” She looked up at Fenris. 

He pursed his lips. “This does not change the fact that Anders is an abomination,” he said sternly.

Hawke _tsk_ ed irritably. “All right, fine, he’s an abomination. But I don’t think he started out that way. It really sounds like his little partnership with Justice was exactly what Solas said: a voluntary joining.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “In which case, maybe Anders was getting busy with Venjustice on the regular-”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Hawke,” he complained. 

She laughed and squeezed his hand. “All right, all right. But it is an interesting theory.” She shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe we _will_ meet a pure spirit someday. See if Solas is really right about all this.”

Fenris scoffed. “With all these angry and power-hungry factions at every corner of the continent? It seems extremely unlikely.”

“You know what else was unlikely?” she said. “You being thrown into the centre of all this. Stranger things have happened, right?”

Fenris grunted bad-temperedly. Then Hawke pulled him to a stop. 

She reached up and stroked his cheek with her knuckles. “I mean it,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

He looked down into her serious face. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was fine, as he’d been doing since they’d left the Hinterlands. But the whole day thus far had left him feeling particularly burnt out. There was the uncertainty of that negotiation with Bull, then the prolonged storytelling with Blackwall, and now this argument with Solas… 

He glanced away from Hawke to see where the others were. Solas was still out of sight, as expected, and Blackwall and Varric were about twenty paces ahead. 

He looked at Hawke once more. “I grow weary of all this company,” he said quietly. “I… Hawke, I still…” 

“I know,” she whispered. She stepped closer to him and pressed her forehead to his. “I know you want to escape. I know.” 

He nodded, then wrapped his arms around her. She slid her arms around his neck, and for a moment, Fenris closed his eyes and allowed himself to savour the quiet comfort of her embrace. 

He breathed slowly against her fragrant hair. A minute later, she brushed her lips against his jaw.

“Come on. We should go,” she whispered.

He swallowed, then nodded. He reluctantly released her, and they hurried along in Blackwall and Varric’s wake. 

_Stranger things have happened,_ Hawke had said. And they had certainly seen some strange things in their time together. Meredith turning into red lyrium, Orsino becoming a disgusting abomination, the varterral at Sundermount and Leandra’s reanimated corpse… 

_Venhedis,_ they had seen some strange and terrible things. Compared to all of that, meeting a friendly spirit wouldn’t be at the top of the list. 

But it did seem pretty damned unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I LOVE COLE, OKAY? A LOT. LIKE A LOT. I CAN’T WAIT TO PUT HIM IN THE MIX.  
> \- Qunlat phrase in this chapter: _Shanedan. Ebasaam esaam kost_ = Greetings. We come in peace.  
> \- Elvhen phrases in this chapter, courtesy of FenxShiral on AO3: _Fenedhis lasa =_ fuck a wolf’s cock [a very rude curse]; _teldirthalelen_ = stupid people/people who refuse to learn.  
> \- I made a reference to Fenris’s tendency for nightmares, which you can read about in more detail in [this chapter.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/39664656)  
> \- I used [this timeline guide](http://www.dumpeddrunkanddalish.com/2018/10/the-ultimate-dragon-age-timeline-from.html?fbclid=IwAR3pbC4D8wET3ggg2GZBKQO9H-EYOrdf6ZrusiwKraPutVN0_ewqYFn5JJE) to try and figure out if Bull and Fenris would have been in Seheron at the same time. The answer is yes. More on this to come, hopefully!


	11. Interlude: Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers: I get the impression that many of you guys are here for the story (WHICH IS GREAT AND I'M SO GLAD FOR THAT), but sometimes a girl just has to write some tender porn with feelings for her favourite broody elf. 
> 
> If you're not into the smut, feel free to skip this chapter. There's nothing in it that's essential to the plot.

Fenris breathed in deeply through his nose, then closed his eyes and released his breath through parted lips. 

It was raining still, and the camp was quiet. The others had all gone to sleep over an hour ago, safe in the knowledge that a trio of Inquisition scouts were keeping guard nearby. The camp was enclosed on all sides by trees, and the only sounds were the staccato of raindrops on foliage and the subtle hiss of the salty sea breeze. 

He inhaled once more, then pushed his hood back and ran his bare hands through his hair. The breeze drifted coolly across his ears and neck, and he tilted his head back to accept the fall of rain upon his face. 

The silence… _kaffas_ , he’d needed this. It had been so long since he’d had a moment of peace. A moment to just sit and do nothing. To say nothing, to speak to no one, and to just… think. 

Not that his thoughts were particularly soothing. They seemed to swing incessantly between the various problems they were facing: red lyrium and rifts, politics and the Breach, Corypheus and his unknown plans and how in the blasted Void he was even still alive. And above it all, like a malignant pulse in his palm, was the green and glowing mark that served as his only source of light in the overcast night.

He stared balefully at his palm for a moment, then closed his hand into a fist. He felt both exhausted and edgy; a terrible combination, given the hard travelling they would be doing tomorrow. But as long as he was unable to sleep, it was best if he stayed out here. If he remained in the tent with Hawke, he would restlessly shuffle and shift every minute or so, and she would wake up and ask him what was wrong.

She would worry, and she’d want to help. But there was nothing she could do to stem the constant flow of problems that were flooding their way. So Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees and lowered his head, letting the rain drip soothingly along his neck and scalp until it beaded and dripped from the damp peaks of his hair. 

Then he heard a sound: a shifting step on the damp grass, and a subtle sniffle of breath. A moment later, she whispered his name into the nighttime air. 

“Fenris?” Hawke’s fingers ran through his wet hair, then smoothed along his nape.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t open his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, and Hawke ran her nails gently along the side of his tattooed neck.

He let out a long sigh as Hawke scratched and stroked his neck. “You should be asleep,” he mumbled. 

“I was,” she said quietly. “Then I rolled over and realized you were gone.” 

He lifted his face to meet her gaze. Her expression was exactly as he feared: a warm little smile, stained with a hint of worry. 

She was wearing trousers and a light linen shirt beneath her lambswool cloak, but her feet were bare. Fenris lifted her hand from his neck, then kissed the inside of her wrist. “Where are your boots?” he asked. “You will catch a cold.” 

She smiled. “Maybe I’m trying to harden my feet up so I can go around barefoot just like you. I already hate wearing shoes and socks, so I think I’m halfway there.” 

He smirked at her cheeky tone. “Hardened soles require more than a short walk from the tent,” he murmured. 

She chuckled softly. “Is that a challenge I hear? Do you dare me to walk from the Storm Coast back to Haven in my bare feet?”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris said, and Hawke laughed again. 

He smiled at her, then kissed her knuckles and released her hand. “Go on. Go back to the tent. I will join you shortly.”

She shook her head, then ran her fingers along the back of his neck. “I’m awake now. I’ll stay here with you.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Her nails were grazing his scalp. She slid her fingers down to his nape, and… _fasta vass,_ the firm stroke of her thumb along the tendon in his neck… 

He closed his eyes again. “All right,” he murmured. He was already feeling less tense than before; his jaw felt more loose, and with every gentle pass of Hawke’s fingers, a little more weight seemed to leave his shoulders. 

He lowered his head once more, and she continued to stroke his neck. The rain kept falling, dripping from his hair and trickling toward the collar of his tunic, but Hawke’s fingers were firm and warm as they sluiced the water away. 

Some time later, she gently squeezed his earlobe. “Come on. Come back to the tent,” she whispered. “Your hair is soaking wet.”

He breathed in slowly. “It’s all right,” he mumbled. “I… don’t mind.”

“Well, I do,” she replied. “There’s a reason they call it a head cold, you know.”

He grunted, but he was feeling too relaxed to argue. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and followed Hawke back toward the tent. 

She took off her cloak and hung it on a convenient branch that was sheltered from the rain, and Fenris did the same. Then he knelt and crawled through the tent flap in her wake.

He settled on his knees on the bedroll, and Hawke shuffled over to kneel behind him. “Get comfortable,” she said. She plucked at his cotton tunic. “Take this off. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

“That is not necessary,” Fenris said, but he followed her directions all the same. 

“Of course it’s not,” she replied. “It’s a luxury. That’s the point. Let me pamper you, all right? It’s no red wine and roses, but a shoulder rub will have to do in this soggy place.” 

He huffed in amusement as he set his tunic aside. “‘Soggy’? Was it necessary to use that word? It rather spoils the mood you’re trying to set,” he drawled.

“Damn,” she said softly. “And here I was thinking I was so smooth.” Her voice was warm with mirth as she settled behind him, and before Fenris could make a witty retort, she began to massage his back. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. The breath he released was long and heavy, and as Hawke pressed her palms and fingers into his bare skin, Fenris could feel the weight lifting from of his mind, almost as though she was kneading his worries away by force. 

He relaxed into her capable hands. Raindrops percussed the fabric of the tent, but the noise was soft and blank and smooth, and it wasn’t long before his lightened mind was floating. 

It was like being in a dream. The kind of soft, soothing dream that Fenris rarely ever had, but treasured on those rare occasions when they did occur. In his half-awake mind, he was drifting and warm, grounded by the heat of Hawke’s hands while his loosened mind floated free. He wasn’t on the Storm Coast, and there was no Inquisition; he was simply _here_ , drifting freely in a limbo of pleasantness and warmth, and the more he was able to float, the more he could feel how very grounded he was. 

He could feel every part of his body: his feet tucked beneath his bum, the heat of his palms on his thighs and the relaxed curl of his fingers, the occasional slow drip of water from his hair onto his nose and chest. And above it all, carrying it all and carrying _him_ , were Hawke’s hands on his skin.

She carefully ran the heels of her hands from his shoulders down to the small of his back, and Fenris arched into her touch with a contented little groan.

She chuckled softly. “I knew this was what you needed,” she whispered. 

He grumbled an incoherent little affirmative. He couldn’t be bothered with words right now. He stretched his arms luxuriously over his head, then slowly rolled his neck from side to side and relaxed once more with a sigh. 

Hawke’s hands fell still as he stretched. As he settled comfortably on his knees once more, she shuffled closer, then dropped a kiss in the center of his back. 

Fenris grew still. Her lips were pressing against his skin, pressing a line of kisses from his spine to the lower edge of his shoulder blade, and her hands were sliding down to rest on his hips. 

She kissed the center of his spine once more, and her quiet voice whispered across his skin. “Is this okay?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Yes,” he murmured. 

She kissed his back once more, then lifted her hands away. A soft rustling ensued - the sounds of linen on skin - then Hawke was touching him once more. 

Her lips were a gentle brush of warmth. Her hands were a steady press of heat. She shifted closer still, then pressed her naked chest against his back. 

His breath snagged in his throat. Hawke kissed his shoulder blade and slid her arms around his chest, her fingers smoothing over his bare skin, and Fenris lightly caressed the backs of her fingers as they traversed his abdomen. Her hands were slow and her touch was firm, and heat of her chest seemed to bleed into his back, washing through him with an urgency that was altogether more enjoyable than the stressful, pressing need that drove their everyday travels. 

She rose up on her knees. Her breasts pressed higher on his back, and Fenris leaned into her, wanting her to touch him more firmly. It had been almost a week since they’d moved together after the time-travel fiasco in Redcliffe Village, and that had hardly been relaxing. In that moment of residual fear and grief, Fenris had _needed_ Hawke. Their sex was a confirmation of her vitality and a desperate reunion, even if she hadn’t known them to be apart.

This was wholeheartedly different. In the stormy susurrus of this tent and the heat of her half-bared body, Fenris didn’t simply need Hawke. He _wanted_ her, and that pure and simple desire felt so damned good.

She lifted her cheek from his skin. “Lie down for me?” she asked. 

Her husky-voiced request was unmistakable, and Fenris was happy to comply. A minute later, his back was flat on the bedroll and his hips were rising up as Hawke rolled his leather leggings down. 

His cock rose toward her, and she lowered her lips to meet him. An instant later, he was gasping against his own clenched fist to silence himself as the pleasure rose through his thighs and his belly.

Her hands were hot on his hips as she suckled him, and Fenris bit his knuckle to stifle a groan. He was eager and unrestrained, freed from the constant weight of his worries by the skillful stroke of her hands. With every hungry pull of her lips and throat, he lifted his hips toward her, wanting her and savouring her and wanting her even more as she gave him the slick heat of her throat.

The warmth, the pressure, the pull: she was lifting him up and dragging his rapture forth in an inexorable wave. His free hand scrabbled for hers, his fingers shaking with tension as they gripped her hand, and Fenris gasped and fiercely bit his thumb as his climax crashed through his body with such force that it left him lightheaded. 

His chest was heaving, ribs rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. Hawke stretched out beside him, and her hand drifted gently across his belly. 

“Maybe you can sleep now,” she whispered in his ear.

Her tone was soft but vibrant. Fenris forced his eyes open, and despite the dimness of the tent, he could still make out her smile. 

He dragged in another breath, then pushed her onto her back with a hand on her hip. Her lips dropped open with surprise, and Fenris took advantage to nip the plumpness of her lower lip with his own.

She gasped softly, then gasped once more as he caressed her breast. “Fenris-” 

He silenced her with a kiss. Her tongue tasted slightly bitter from his seed, but her mouth was hot and hungry, and he happily swallowed her whimpers as he pinched her nipple, then unbuttoned her trousers. 

She arched toward his hand, lifting her hips as eagerly as he’d lifted his own for her, and Fenris broke their kiss. “Be silent, Hawke,” he whispered. He shifted down to kneel between her legs and peeled her trousers away from her hips. 

Her breathy chuckle was barely audible above the rain. “What, you don’t want me to wake the whole camp?” she murmured.

He shook his head. Of course he didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. He ducked his head and ran his tongue over the peak of her hipbone.

She released a shuddering gasp and jerked toward him, and he placed a calming hand on her belly. “I want to keep this for myself,” he told her. “I… this… it is for you and I alone. It is private.”

She reached down and stroked his hand. “Of course it’s private,” she panted. “What-?”

He shook his head once more. “Nothing is truly private anymore,” he murmured. “Not with the others around all the time. The conversations, the questions… Sometimes I think that it will never end. But here…” 

He trailed off and looked around at their tiny tent. It was like a cocoon, cozy and cut off from the others and warmed with their shared heat, and it was easy to pretend that they were truly alone. 

He stroked her hipbone with his thumb. “There are some things I don’t wish to share with the others. This is one of them. When we are on the road, your sounds are mine,” he said bluntly. “I don’t want anyone else to hear them. To hear _us_.” He lifted his eyes to her face. “Can we do that?”

She grinned and propped herself up on her elbows. “Now you’re really challenging me.” 

He smiled briefly, but pressed on with his point. “I am serious,” he said softly. “We cannot keep to ourselves anymore. I know that. But… I want to keep something for myself.” 

She tilted her head, and Fenris watched as the jocularity melted from her face, leaving only fondness behind. She sat up and stroked his neck. “I understand,” she whispered. “The tent is our private spot. We keep it quiet here, then it’s like escaping from the world for a bit.” 

He exhaled softly and nodded, relieved that she understood. “Yes.” 

She smiled, then tilted her chin up. “Well, we’d better try this silence thing, then. You know how much of a loudmouth I can be.”

He huffed softly, then gently pushed her down on her back with one hand at her throat. “Consider it done,” he murmured. He shifted down on the bedroll and ran two fingers between her legs. 

She jerked her hips toward him and jammed the back of her hand against her mouth. Her knees fell wider apart, and Fenris studied her slickness for a moment before dropping his lips between her legs. 

He kissed her sweetly, and she bucked her hips toward him. She was utterly silent, not even an audible gasp or breath, but as Fenris laid two more lingering kisses along the length of her cleft, her fingers clenched in the fabric of the bedroll. 

He ran his lower lip over her clit, then joined his lips with his tongue. Her taste was raw and sweet, and the rolling of her hips was smooth but firm, and Fenris carefully took every drop of her moisture onto his tongue before lapping at her tiny bud with a gentle rhythm. 

He savoured the plump feel and flavour of her flesh as she pressed herself closer to his face. Suddenly she clenched her fist, then dragged her nails across her bare belly, and Fenris took her hips in his hands as she shuddered and arched her back. 

She parted her legs even wider and ground her hips against his face. She was silent still, silent in her rapture, but he didn’t need to hear her sounds; the twisting of her body told him everything he needed to know. 

She eventually settled onto the bedroll once more and lowered her hand from her lips. Then, at last, a quiet sound escaped her: a soft and lazy sigh, followed by an equally soft and lazy laugh.

She reached down and stroked his eyebrow with her thumb. “Was that silent enough for you?” she asked. 

Her quiet voice was almost slurred with pleasure. Fenris rose to his hands and knees, then lowered himself over her naked body.

Her eyes were closed, but her lips were lifted in a smile. Fenris cradled her neck in his palm. “You were adequately quiet,” he teased. “It was acceptable.”

Her smile broadened. “Well, you know what they say: practice makes perfect.” She slowly wrapped her legs around his waist. “Can you help me with that?”

He smiled back at her. “I believe I can, yes,” he whispered. He lowered his head and took her lips in a careful kiss. 

She slid her fingers into his hair, and he nipped her lower lip. Within a few breathless minutes, he was rocking into the cradle of her hips and stealing her gasping breaths with the tip of his greedy tongue. 

The rain continued to drum against the tent, and his muffled groans melted into Hawke’s enraptured moans with every desperate meeting of their lips. As they breathed and kissed and fucked in the quiet refuge of their tent, Fenris savoured how very alone they were. 

It was exactly as Hawke had said: this was their escape. In the heated silence of this tiny tent and the urgency of the love they shared, Fenris had found his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you care to swing on by. xo


	12. Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder to everyone who has been following along and commenting: I love you all, my lethallen. xoxo

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” Cassandra said. “The Breach is sealed.” She glanced approvingly at Fenris. 

Josephine exclaimed happily, and Leliana nodded and smiled. Cullen sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “Thank the Maker,” he said. He looked up at Fenris and smiled as well. “Good work, Fenris. And the mages as well. It… you did well, all of you.” 

Hawke rested a hand on her hip. “Cullen, I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.” She grinned up at Fenris. “I’ll go tell Flissa immediately. She’ll be so jealous. The stern Commander smiling…” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Leliana covered her mouth to hide a smirk, and Cullen frowned. “Yes, well,” he muttered, then cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, our work is far from finished. Leliana’s scouts have yet to learn exactly how the Breach came to be, and there are lingering rifts across Thedas.”

“The dark future you witnessed in Redcliffe also raises more questions,” Josephine said. “The assassination of Empress Celene in particular is most alarming.”

“We also have yet to learn who exactly this Corypheus is and what his motives are,” Leliana said. She looked at Fenris and Hawke. “You and Varric’s accounts are very informative, but only to a point. We need to understand what happened from the moment you - well…”

“The moment we thought we killed him, but didn’t,” Hawke said cheerfully. “It’s all right, we fucked up. You can say it.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look, and Leliana shook her head. “I would not say that. But from everything you told us, he should not be alive. Insight from the higher ranks of the Grey Wardens would be extremely valuable right now, and fortunately, we finally have a lead on that matter.” She reached across the table and handed a small scroll to Hawke. 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose as she took the scroll. Then her jaw dropped as she recognized the handwriting on the scroll itself. She looked up at Fenris excitedly. “It’s from Stroud!” she exclaimed. “That mustachioed ass. It took him long enough!” 

Fenris gazed shrewdly at Leliana. “I assume you have already read the contents of this letter.”

Hawke frowned, then wilted. “Oh. Right. Spies and whatnot.” She sighed and pulled the letter out. “I hope Stroud didn’t draw me any filthy pictures. Actually, I take that back. I rather hope he did.”

Leliana gave her a tiny smile, but didn’t reply. Fenris looked over Hawke’s shoulder to read the letter, and they both frowned. 

It was a very brief note: a mere two lines indicating that Stroud was heading to a hideout in a place called Crestwood, and that he needed to meet Hawke there was soon as she was able.

Fenris handed the letter to Cassandra so she could see it. “I suppose we will be on our way to Crestwood tomorrow, then,” he said. 

He tried to keep the weariness from his voice as he said this, but it was difficult; he was feeling tired down to his bones. He and Hawke and the others had managed to make the week-long journey from the Storm Coast back to Haven in six days of brisk walking, and they’d only taken a single day’s rest before heading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes this morning. Then there was the closing of the Breach itself, which was just as uncomfortable as Fenris had dreaded it would be. Having over a hundred mages pouring their powers into his palm – being the focus of that much concentrated magic… 

He rubbed his left hand irritably. It had been hours since they’d closed the Breach, and he could still feel a lingering vibration in his palm.

“We don’t have to head out tomorrow,” Hawke said. “It can wait for one more day, right?” She looked at Leliana. “I assume you have scouts there already who are sussing out the situation?”

Leliana folded her arms behind her back. “Yes,” she confirmed. “There is a camp set up for your arrival. My scouts have not located Warden Stroud, but other Grey Wardens have been spotted in the area. Their own scouts, it seems, and they too are looking for someone.” She tilted her head. “You do not have to go tomorrow, but I would not recommend waiting for too long.”

“We’ll take a day to rest, then,” Hawke said firmly. “In fact, why are we even talking about this now? Is there really anything else so urgent that it can’t be dealt with tomorrow?”

Cullen pursed his lips. “Well, no–”

“Good,” Hawke interrupted cheerfully. “Then let’s go join the party! Everyone’s out there dancing and having drinks – we should go join them. Cullen, you really need a drink. I don’t know how you manage to take a shit with your cheeks clenched so tight.” She squeezed Fenris’s hand and looked up at him. “And _you_ absolutely deserve a fucking drink. Flissa actually has some Aggregio down at the tavern.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “She does?”

Hawke winced. “No. Bad joke. But she does have a very nice Nevarran red that I asked her to set aside for you.” 

Fenris scoffed in exasperation, but he had to admit that a glass of wine sounded extremely tempting right now. He looked at Josephine, Cullen and Leliana once more. “Are we finished here?”

“Yes,” Josephine said. She smiled at Fenris. “You have more than earned a day of rest. Please enjoy it. And… _benefaris._ ”

Her smile was hopeful. Dorian must have taught her the Tevene phrase. Fenris smiled faintly in thanks, then took a step away from the table and looked at Cassandra. “Will you be joining us?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. I…” She frowned and looked at Leliana as though for guidance.

“Oh come on, Cass,” Hawke said, “come have a drink with us! It won’t kill you to relax a bit. I promise I won’t try to dance with you or anything.” She winked at Cassandra. “You can just watch.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, then sighed. “All right, yes. I will join you. Thank you.” Her tone was brusque, but as they nodded farewell to the advisors and left the war room, Fenris could see the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of the Nevarran warrior’s lips. 

Hawke grinned at Fenris and Cassandra as they made their way toward the Chantry exit. “All right! I’ll run to Flissa’s for the drinks. Nevarran red for Fenris, cheap brandy for me… Cass, what’s your drink? What are you having?”

Cassandra inclined her head. “Red wine for me as well, thank you.”

“Perfect,” Hawke chirped. “I’ll catch you with Varric and the others.” She gave Fenris a quick peck on the cheek, then darted out of the Chantry’s heavy double doors. 

Fenris and Cassandra followed her at a more sedate pace. As they strolled slowly away from the Chantry and through the throngs of happily chattering residents, Cassandra glanced at him. “You seem displeased.” 

Fenris looked at her, then shrugged. “I’m not… displeased. I am…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair. “This is only the beginning,” he said. “Closing the Breach was the most urgent problem, but it wasn’t the only one.” 

“No,” Cassandra agreed. “But it was still a victory. And as you can see, word of your heroism has spread.” She cast a pointed glance at the laughing and dancing villagers, many of whom were raising drinks to Fenris and calling out praise to him as they passed. 

He self-consciously rubbed his left palm on his leg, then forced himself to ignore the attention. “It was not heroic. It was necessary,” he retorted. “I was – this mark was a tool for the mages to close the Breach.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “That was not your only act of heroism. Redcliffe Village, the Hinterlands… they are safer because of you. Perhaps you are too close to judge. You are exactly what we have needed.” She thoughtfully narrowed her eyes. “You are extremely modest, you know.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “Says the woman who single-handedly rescued the last Divine from four high dragons at the tender age of eighteen.”

Cassandra scowled at him. “I told you, that is not how it really happened.” 

Fenris smirked, and Cassandra _tsk_ ed irritably. “It is not the same,” she insisted. “You were chosen by Andraste. Your appearance at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, your possession of the mark: it was all through divine providence.”

“It seems to me that the Divine Beatrix would likely have seen your presence to be something of the divine as well,” Fenris said.

Cassandra’s eyes were narrowed, but as Fenris steadily returned her gaze, her face relaxed. “Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “You… you may be right. Perhaps there is something of the divine in every heroic event.” She gave Fenris a tiny smile. “That is a pleasant thought.”

_Or perhaps there is nothing divine in any of it,_ Fenris thought. That’s what Hawke would say if she were here. But Cassandra appeared to take great comfort from the idea, and Fenris couldn’t help but wonder a little wistfully what it would be like to have that much faith.

They found Varric in his usual spot, accompanied by the Iron Bull, Dorian, Blackwall and Sera. Toby was seated at Varric’s feet, and as Fenris approached, the mabari stood and began madly wagging his tail. 

Fenris smiled at Toby and scratched his head. The conversation they were having was lively and loud, and as Fenris and took a seat beside Varric, it quickly became clear what they were talking about. 

“... saddled with a qunari spy, and no one sees this as a problem?” Dorian said archly. He swirled his glass of wine and gave Bull a condescending look.

Bull chuckled. “Says the Vint. When we’re fighting Vints.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes, then shrugged. “That’s… not a terrible point, I suppose.” 

“I like this game,” Varric said affably. “The who’s-the-biggest-misfit-in-the-Inquisition game. My vote is for me. I didn’t even mean to be here.” 

Cassandra huffed and folded her arms. “No one is saying you cannot leave,” she remarked. 

Varric pulled a mock-sad face. “Aww, Seeker, I know you don’t mean that. You’d miss my stories too much.”

“Tall tales, more like,” she muttered, but Fenris noted with interest – and not for the first time – that her cheeks were turning slightly pink at the mention of Varric’s stories.

“It’s me!” Sera announced. “I’m the biggest misfit. But I like it here. It’s something to do, yeah? Light some fires under some nobles’ arses…” She turned to Dorian with a wicked grin. “You need a fire in your silky knickers, rich boy?”

“You know, I would, but I’m wearing my lambskin underthings today, not the silk ones,” Dorian replied smoothly. “Another time, perhaps.” 

Sera cackled in response. Blackwall smirked at her, then tucked his thumb in his belt. “Well, I don’t feel like a misfit,” he said. “Being with the Inquisition, helping with the good you’re doing here…” He raised his stein slightly to Fenris. “This is exactly the right place to be.”

“How very noble,” Dorian said in a slightly waspish tone. “And I suppose your Grey Warden commanders have no problem with your presence here?”

Blackwall frowned. “The Blight is over,” he said. “In times of peace, some things are more important than recruiting. My commanders would agree.”

“Lucky for us,” Dorian muttered.

Blackwall scowled at him, and Fenris raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized that Blackwall and Dorian didn’t get along.

Bull replied before Blackwall could speak. “I think _we’re_ the lucky ones to have you around, Dorian,” he said. “It’s been real educational watching you swan around the place in your fancy robes. What happens when they get dirty and you can’t send them away for cleaning?”

Dorian lifted his chin in a dignified manner. “I have them dyed black, of course. A good black dye can hide any number of sins.”

“Sins, huh?” Bull leaned forward and slowly smiled. “What kind of _sins_ did you have in mind?”

Dorian and Cassandra scoffed in disgust, and Sera grinned. Then Varric elbowed Fenris. “Almost feels like being back home in Kirkwall, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

Fenris smirked faintly. “Do you mean the banter, or the fact that we just narrowly averted a terrible crisis?”

Varric chuckled. “Take your pick. Hey, where’s Hawke gotten off to?”

“I’m here!” Hawke chirped as she drew near. “And look who I found reading in the tavern all by himself.” She was carrying a tray of drinks on one hand, and her other hand was hooked through Solas’s elbow. 

Blackwall hastily took the precariously balanced tray from her hand. “My la- Hawke, allow me,” he said.

She beamed at him. “Thank you, my good sir,” she said. She pushed Solas down onto a boulder beside Blackwall, then picked up the glasses of wine and flitted over to hand them to Cassandra and Fenris. She took the tumbler of brandy from the tray and blew Blackwall a kiss of thanks, then stroked Toby’s furry head as she settled herself beside Fenris. 

“So, Solas!” Dorian said brightly. “You prefer reading over socializing, I see? Or are you actively avoiding our scintillating company?”

Solas folded his hands in his lap and smiled slightly. “No offense was meant. I was simply enjoying the quiet. The tavern was quite empty, with everyone dancing in the streets.” He glanced at Fenris, then nodded a neutral greeting.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but nodded coolly in return. He was still feeling wary of Solas in the wake of that discussion about demons and spirits, but Solas hadn’t done or said anything else suspicious in the past week. Not to say that that meant much; after all, it had taken years before Merrill’s and Anders’s corruption had reached a critical point. 

Bull chuckled. “It won’t be quiet for long. All this booze and dancing? People will be swinging from the chandeliers shortly. And not just figuratively, I hope.” He smirked. 

Hawke snickered appreciatively, and Blackwall snorted. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

“I’m surprised _you_ don’t think about it more,” Bull retorted. “It’s been, what, a couple years since you were with a woman? Wandering around in the woods on your own?”

Blackwall folded his arms. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“You should get that taken care of, you know,” Bull advised. “It’s not healthy. Going that long without sex is unheard of in Par Vollen.” 

Blackwall grunted. Then Solas changed the subject. “Dorian, as we are here, I have a question about the way you cast your barriers.” 

Sera blew a loud raspberry. “Nope. Leaving. Come on, Beardy, let’s go!” She jumped up and hauled Blackwall away by the arm.

Bull stood up as well. “I’ll go check on my guys. See you, boss.” He gave Fenris a tiny casual salute as he said this, and Fenris frowned at the appellation.

Solas, meanwhile, was speaking to Dorian. “You use an active form of energy to form your barrier. It bounces incoming damage back towards your foes rather than simply repelling it.”

“Yes, it’s got a nice little snap, doesn’t it?” Dorian said jovially. “It’s a tricky thing to master. Not many mages in Tevinter could do it.” 

“Interesting,” Solas said neutrally. “It is, in fact, an elven technique.”

Dorian’s face fell slightly. “Oh. I see.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “But that’s not how _you_ form your barriers.” 

“No,” Solas said. “I use another method – an older technique that I discovered in the Fade. It allows me to absorb energy into my barriers. It is helpful for replenishing mana in desperate times.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “An interesting idea, that. I wonder whether Hawke’s barriers are more absorbent or repellent, she hasn’t used one on me before – oh, but she’s busy…” 

Indeed, Hawke was embroiled in some kind of whispered discussion with Varric; some foolish thing about daring Blackwall to challenge Solas to a game of diamondback. But to Fenris’s own surprise, he was actually able to contribute something to Solas and Dorian’s conversation.

He looked at Dorian. “I suspect that Hawke’s barriers are more repellent,” he said. “They feel more similar to yours.” 

Hawke looked up at the sound of her name. Dorian’s eyebrows rose, and Solas gave him a very sharp look. “How do you mean?” Solas said. 

Fenris frowned slightly at the sudden intensity of Solas’s gaze. “Your barrier is cool and smooth. More shield-like,” he said cautiously. “Hawke’s is warm. It has an almost vibrating quality.” He declined to mention that Hawke’s barriers felt more pleasant than Solas’s. “Dorian’s barriers also vibrate, but not in the same manner as Hawke’s. So I thought perhaps…”

He trailed off and narrowed his eyes. Dorian was staring at him with frank surprise, and Solas was watching him with the same kind of obnoxiously studious expression that he used to wear when they’d first met. 

He glanced at Hawke, then scowled. She was just as wide-eyed as the others. “Why are you all staring at me like that?” he demanded.

“You can feel the difference between our barriers?” Hawke asked. 

“Yes,” Fenris said testily. “Why? What…” He trailed off and looked at Varric and Cassandra, who were both looking a little nonplussed. “Can you not feel the difference between their barriers?”

“Nope,” Varric said. 

Fenris frowned, then relaxed. Perhaps Varric couldn’t feel the difference because he was a dwarf. But Cassandra also shook her head. “I can feel when I am under the influence of a mage’s barrier, but I cannot sense the differences among them,” she said. 

“Maybe you can feel barriers because you have special Seeker powers,” Varric suggested to Cassandra. “But then why…?” He raised an eyebrow at Fenris. 

“It could be the mark,” Hawke said. She was holding Fenris’s left hand, and she turned his hand over and curiously stroked the glowing mark as she spoke. “Maybe it’s made you able to sense magic in a different way.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It is not the mark,” he told Hawke. He almost didn’t want to admit this, given how much attention his observation had earned him. The discovery that this so-called ability was not commonplace was starting to make him anxious. “I’ve always been able to feel the difference between barriers. Or as long as I have known you and Merrill and Anders, at least. I cannot speak to before that, as no Tevinter mage would waste a barrier on a slave.” 

Hawke’s coppery eyes widened even further. “So you were able to tell the difference between my barrier and Anders’s and Merrill’s?”

“Yes,” Fenris said impatiently. He was really regretting now that he’d spoken up. If he’d known this was so peculiar, he would not have mentioned it so publicly.

Hawke frowned. “Well, it must be because of the lyrium tattoos, then.” She looked at Solas and Dorian. “Have either of you ever heard of something like this? Non-mages being able to feel magical barriers so keenly?”

“No,” Dorian said. “But Fenris’s tattoos are unique even in the Imperium. It’s entirely possible that their magic imbued him with some kind of barrier-sensing ability.”

Solas, meanwhile, continued to stare at Fenris without speaking. His face was neutral, but his eyes were very bright and very alert, and it was making Fenris feel increasingly agitated. 

Varric tutted sympathetically and patted his arm. “Sorry, elf. As if things weren’t weird enough for you already.”

Fenris gulped a mouthful of wine instead of replying. Then Hawke gave a small laugh. “Well, either way, I guess this means Fenris knows who has his back the most.” She batted her eyes at him. “I bet it’s me.”

He smiled weakly at her attempt at levity. Then Cassandra spoke. “What the…? Maker’s breath.”

Fenris looked up at her in alarm. Her voice was sharp and her gaze was on the horizon.

“What is it?” Dorian asked.

“There,” Cassandra exclaimed. She pointed to the southern ridge of the Frostback Mountains. 

Fenris looked, and his eyes widened as he spotted what Cassandra had seen: pinpricks of light making their way down the mountain. Many, _many_ pinpricks of light. 

It was soldiers carrying torches. “ _Fasta vass,_ ” he breathed. 

“Sweet Andraste’s knickers,” Varric swore. “Is that…?” 

Toby growled low in his throat. Then a cacophonous clanging of alarm bells started up, and Fenris’s heart rate spiked as the villagers began screaming and running for shelter. 

They all swiftly rose to their feet. “What fresh fucking hell is this?” Hawke complained. 

“Quickly,” Cassandra urged. “We must get to the gates.” She bolted toward the outer barbican, with Fenris and the others close at her heels.

Cullen was already there, barking orders to a handful of his officers. Cassandra came to an abrupt stop beside them. “What is happening?” she panted.

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen snapped. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Who the fuck are they?” Hawke demanded. 

Cullen shook his head. “We don’t know.” 

Cassandra and Hawke recoiled in surprise. “Well, that’s not promising,” Dorian said.

Just then, there was a solid bang on the doors to the outer barbican. 

Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back. He glared at Cullen. “I thought you said they were over the-”

The doors _thudded_ once more. Then a voice called through the door. “I can’t come in unless you open,” the voice said.

It sounded like a young man’s voice – an oddly benign one. Fenris frowned, and Varric crept closer with Bianca in his hands. “Is it one of the villagers?” he asked worriedly. 

“I…” Fenris trailed off uncertainly, then moved closer to the door. Varric took a few steps back, then nodded to Fenris.

Fenris looked back at Hawke. Her staff was drawn, and a ball of fire was already forming in her hand. 

She nodded as well, and Fenris shoved the door open and barged through the doors to find a group of dead Templars, with one single man still standing. 

Then that one man fell down dead, revealing a very young man in a dirty patched shirt and a very strange hat, with two bloody daggers in his hands. 

“I’m Cole,” the young man said. He sheathed his daggers and took a step toward Fenris. “I came to warn you. To help.” He tilted his head, and Fenris caught a glimpse of very pale blue eyes peering through a curtain of ragged flaxen hair. 

He took another step closer, and Fenris instinctively stepped back and held up his sword.

The young man stopped in his tracks, and a look of vague confusion crossed his face. “People are coming to hurt you,” he said insistently. He wrung his hands together. “You probably already know.”

Hawke slipped through the barbican doors with Toby close behind. “What…? Oh damn, those are dead Templars.” Her wide eyes tracked from the dead bodies up to Cole. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Cole,” the young man said once more. Then he looked Fenris straight in the eye. “The Templars come to kill you.”

Cole’s pale-eyed gaze was oddly unnerving: it was both vague and penetrating at the same time, and Fenris recoiled slightly from the strange intensity of it. “How do you know that?” he asked suspiciously. 

“I heard them,” Cole said vaguely. His eyes were eerily steady on Fenris’s face. 

Fenris frowned more deeply. Then Toby cautiously edged closer to Cole and sniffed his hand. 

Cole looked down at the mabari. “Hello,” he said politely. 

Toby looked up at Cole, and Fenris watched the mabari carefully. His ears were perked and his tail was still, and as Fenris watched, he sniffed Cole’s hand once more, then tentatively licked Cole’s fingers. 

Then he backed away, whined, and hid behind Hawke.

Hawke looked down at Toby in surprise. “What’s wrong, boy? Doesn’t he taste good?” Her tone was jocular, but her eyebrows were lifted with worry, and Fenris was equally concerned. He’d never seen Toby afraid of anyone. The mabari was either overbearingly friendly or overbearingly hostile. 

He scowled at Cole with fresh suspicion. “Who are you, really?” he demanded. “Are you a spy?”

Cole blinked at him. “I’m Cole,” he said mildly. “And you’re the Herald. He’s coming to kill you.”

Fenris glared at him. Then Cullen skidded up beside them. “Templars?” he snarled. “Is this the Order’s response to our talking to the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole looked at Cullen. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” he said. Then he looked at Fenris once more. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” His eyes shifted slowly back to Cullen. “And his second-in-command knows you. From Kirkwall.” Cole’s gaze drifted vaguely into the middle distance, and when he spoke again, it was in a dreamy tone, almost as though he was talking to himself. 

“Blue light on my tongue, blue light in my veins, but the red stuff is better,” he murmured. “They tried to kick me out, but I have a purpose again.”

“What?” Cullen demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Cullen,” Hawke said. Her eyes were huge as she stared at Cole. “I think he means–”

“There,” Cole said, and he pointed to a hill about a kilometer away.

Fenris and the others looked. It was too far for the humans to clearly see, but at the top of the hill was a man: a sallow-skinned and familiar man. And beside him was a much taller man who was also horribly familiar… and yet somehow not. 

“Wait a minute,” Cullen said slowly. He was squinting fiercely. “Is that…?”

“It’s Samson,” Hawke blurted. She looked at Fenris for confirmation. “Right?” 

“Yes. And Corypheus,” he growled. 

There was a general exclamation of surprise and horror from those who had never seen Corypheus before. They all watched in horror for a moment as the massing Templar force began to pour down the mountain. 

Cole looked at Fenris once more. “He’s very angry that you took his mages,” he said matter-of-factly.

Fenris ignored him and turned to Cullen. “Tell us what to do,” he snapped.

Cullen shook his head in disgust. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle,” he said. He raised his voice and addressed his soldiers, who were standing at attention just outside the outer barbican. “Hit their forces hard,” he barked. “Use everything you can.” Then he turned to face the rebel mages, who were assembled with Fiona and Solas at their head. “Mages, you have sanction to engage them,” he snapped. Then he raised his sword and his voice. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, and for all of us!”

The soldiers and mages raised their weapons and cheered. Hawke grabbed Fenris’s arm and looked between him and Varric. “All right, my handsome men, we stick together as usual, right?” she said. She reached over and ushered Cassandra and Dorian closer. “Come on, you two, all friends together.” 

Her voice was jovial, but her fingers were biting into Fenris’s arm. He briefly squeezed her hand. “Together,” he said firmly, and her grip softened slightly. 

“We defend the trebuchets,” Cassandra said sharply. “They may be able to stop the bulk of their forces before they make it down the mountain.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. Then he looked up to see the first wave of the Templars’ vanguard approaching.

But the foes that he saw weren’t Templars… were they? No, wait, they were. But… but why did they look odd…?

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” he breathed. It was exactly as he’d feared. 

“Oh fuck,” Hawke blurted.

“Shit,” Varric lamented. “Oh no–”

“What is wrong with them?” Cassandra demanded.

“They’re infected with red lyrium,” Dorian snapped. He met Fenris’s eyes, and a sudden pit of fear opened wide in his belly. 

He turned to Hawke and took her arm. “Stay away from them, do you understand?” he said urgently. “Do not let them near you. If they approach you, run. No heroics, nothing impulsive. Hawke, you can’t let them–”

“Fenris, I know,” she interrupted angrily. “I’m not an idiot, I know what red lyrium does.” She cupped his cheek in her palm and lowered her voice. “I’ll stay back from them. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

He inhaled deeply and nodded. Then she crouched beside Toby and ruffled his ears. “All right, good boy, you go back to the Chantry. Protect the kids and the villagers, all right? I can’t have my favourite fool mabari getting infected.” 

Toby whined, and Hawke whispered to the mabari for a moment longer before he turned and trotted away with his tail between his legs. 

Her face was sad as she rose to her feet and readied her staff. Fenris quickly squeezed her hand, then set his lyrium scars to life and charged toward the approaching enemy with Cassandra at his side. 

He and Cassandra had been fighting together long enough now to know each other’s styles and to complement each other well, both when they fought side-by-side and when they were apart. Fenris swung his sword in wide destructive arcs while Cassandra finished them off with precision strikes, and she used her shield to batter their enemies down while Fenris slammed his sword and his pommel to shatter bones and skulls. Bursts of flame and lightning and chunks of blood-encrusted ice rained around them as Dorian and Hawke flung their projectiles from afar, and Varric’s well-aimed bolts stopped many an enemy before they had a chance to get within Fenris and Cassandra’s range. 

“Ready, my Lord Herald!” The soldier manning the trebuchet called out to them, and they watched as she flung a huge boulder toward the mountain, striking high above the Templar forces.

The boulder struck right on target, triggering an enormous avalanche that thundered down the mountain and swept away a huge section of the Templar troops. 

A cheer rose from the nearby Inquisition soldiers. “Excellent,” Cassandra said. Her brows were creased in a frown, but she nodded approvingly. “That will slow them down.”

Dorian raised one eyebrow. “That seemed easy. Too easy, perhaps?”

Hawke groaned. “Dorian, don’t jinx it! Or don’t you Vints know not to say things like that?”

Dorian tutted at her. “You do know that it’s rude to call someone a Vint, don’t you? Especially someone as handsome as me.”

She and Dorian continued to faux-bicker, but Fenris ignored them. Far on the horizon, through the rising cloud of snow and debris, he could see a shadow. An enormous shadow that was getting closer, with a fulminating ball of violently red light forming near its head… 

“Get down!” Fenris bellowed. He grabbed Hawke’s hand and hauled her away from the trebuchet, then shoved her to the ground and covered her with his body.

He shielded her vulnerable head in his gauntleted hands. A second later, an eye-watering wave of heat washed over them as an enormous ball of fire smashed into the trebuchet, obliterating it completely. 

Then a huge black dragon soared overhead with a ground-shaking roar. 

Fenris dragged in a breath. The air was hot and smoky, and he immediately began to cough. A moment later, Hawke’s fingers were scrabbling over the backs of his gauntlets. 

Her voice was muffled, but Fenris could still make out her words. “Fuck,” she cursed. “Fuck fuck fuck, Fenris are you okay, Maker’s fucking balls…”

He finally took a clear breath, then effortfully pushed himself off of her. “I’m fine,” he rasped. He spat out a gobbet of phlegm, then carefully rose to his knees and looked around. 

There were a handful of dead Inquisition soldiers and three mages nearby, and all of them had been killed by burns. Cassandra, Dorian and Varric were crouched on the ground nearby looking shaken but unhurt; it seemed that Dorian had thrown a barrier over all of them just in time. 

Fenris breathed a sigh of relief, then helped Hawke to her feet. He began to lead her over to the others, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Where are you hurt? Let me heal it,” she said brusquely. 

Fenris breathed in slowly. “Smoke in my lungs,” he said quietly. “And my feet…” 

He lifted one foot, and Hawke scowled at the blisters on his soles. “ _You_ should start wearing boots,” she scolded. She placed one hand on his chest and muttered softly, and a calm mint-green light shone from her palm for a moment. Then she smoothed her glowing palm over the soles of his feet to heal the burns. 

She looked up at him, and Fenris was surprised to find her scowling. “What?” he demanded.

“Why did you do that?” she asked. “I could have put up a barrier like Dorian did. Stopped either of us from getting hurt. You could’ve been killed with this little body-shield stunt.”

He frowned at her, but before he could argue, the others joined them. “We must regroup,” Cassandra said brusquely. “Quickly, before the dragon comes around again.”

Fenris nodded, and they all pelted back toward the Chantry at full speed. Cullen and a handful of his soldiers were manning the outer barbican, and the Commander’s ferocious scowl cleared slightly as they drew close. 

“Back to the Chantry,” he called. “It’s the only building that might hold back that beast.” He looked around for any final straggling fighters, then gestured for his men to close the gates. “At this point, just make them work for it,” he said grimly.

Fenris frowned at his pessimism. But as usual, Hawke couldn’t hold back her reaction. 

“That’s a cheery outlook, Cullen,” she remarked as they all ran toward the Chantry. “You’re giving up so easily? I thought you were a better survivor than that.” 

“You don’t know what I’ve survived,” Cullen snapped at her. 

“I know some of it,” she retorted. “You survived fucking Kirkwall. At least this Chantry is still standing. That counts for something, right?”

“She makes a good point, Curly,” Varric called out. 

Cullen shook his head but didn’t reply. Cassandra, however, gave her a grateful look. “Thank you, Hawke,” she said.

“Ah, what for?” Hawke said. “Just being my usual ray-of-sunshine self.”

They drew level with the Chantry to see Chancellor Roderick and Cole ushering a last trickle of villagers and soldiers through the doors, with Toby standing guard. Fenris studied Roderick with alarm: he was clutching his abdomen, and blood was actively trickling through his fingers. 

“Move,” Roderick rasped at the scared-looking villagers. “Keep going. The Chantry is your shelter.” He leaned heavily against the door, then began to slide to the ground.

Cassandra and Dorian hastily stepped toward him, but Cole caught him before he could fall. The young man’s vague blue eyes drifted over their faces. “He tried to stop a Templar,” he explained. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

Fenris didn’t doubt it. A belly wound that deep? Roderick would die, yes. And it would be slow and agonizing. 

“Don’t worry,” Cole said softly, almost as though he’d heard Fenris’s thoughts. “I’ll help.” He eased the chancellor down onto a nearby crate, but Fenris couldn’t help but frown at Cole’s odd words. If the chancellor was going to die, what help was there?

Hawke was hugging her mabari, whose tail was madly wagging. Cullen, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth on the carpet. “Our position is not good,” he lamented. “That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

A wave of scared muttering rippled through the crowded Chantry, and Fenris looked up. Haven’s survivors were avidly watching their discussion. 

Hawke released Toby and rose to her feet. “Cullen,” she sing-songed quietly. “Not in front of the kids.” She darted a pointed glance at the gathered villagers. 

Then Cole spoke up in his dreamlike voice. “I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” 

Fenris looked at him sharply. The Fade? He was _in_ the Fade? What did that mean?

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Cullen exclaimed. “It has cut a path for that army. It’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

“Cullen,” Cassandra snapped. “Keep your voice down.”

Cole shook his head. His eyes were fixed on Cullen’s face. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“What?” Cullen demanded. “Why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? He wants the mark,” Dorian said. He was eyeing Cullen as though he’d sprouted qunari horns. “It’s as Alexius said: the mark has some special purpose. He clearly wants it back.” 

“He will not have it,” Fenris cut in. “He is an abomination of the worst kind. I will not give him this blasted magic back just so he can wreak more havoc than he has already done.” 

“That’s right,” Hawke agreed. “We’ll kill him first. And this time for good.” 

“It won’t be easy,” Cole said. “He has a dragon.”

Fenris, Dorian, Hawke, Varric, and Cassandra all gave Cole an odd look, and Cullen threw his hands up in exasperation. “We know that he has a–!” He broke off and shook his head in disgust, then turned back to Fenris and the others. “There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them down was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchet, cause one last slide.” 

Fenris frowned. “Another avalanche like the last one would bury Haven,” he said in a low voice. “Even the Chantry wouldn’t stand up to that.”

“Well, that’s not acceptable,” Dorian snapped. “I didn’t join this terribly unfashionable organization just to have you drop rocks on my head.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Cullen snapped. “Should we submit? Let him kill us?”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris snarled. “I will never submit to a magister.”

“I quite agree,” Dorian said. He was glaring at Cullen now. “Dying is typically a last resort, not first. For a Templar, you think like a blood mage!” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows in surprised appreciation. Then Hawke spoke up, breaking the tense silence. “What is it, Roderick? What are you two looking at?”

Fenris looked at Roderick. He and Cole were gazing off toward the left rear corner of the Chantry, near Josephine’s office. As Fenris watched, Cole turned back to Roderick with a faint smile. “Yes, that,” he said softly. Then he looked up at the rest of them. “Chancellor Roderick can help,” he said. “He wants to say it before he dies.”

Roderick took a deep breath, then glanced at Cole once more before speaking in a weak voice. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape.” He tiredly rubbed his ashen forehead. “Andraste… she must have shown me so I could tell you,” he muttered.

Varric raised his eyebrows. “An escape route through the Chantry? From Josie’s office?”

Roderick nodded. “It was pure whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start – it was overgrown. Now, with so many of the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…” He shook his head and looked at Fenris, and for the first time, his face wasn’t twisted with dislike. 

“I don’t know, Herald,” he said softly. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

Dorian clapped his hands once. “Well, well, what do you know. A survival route,” he said acidly to Cullen. “How nice.” 

Cullen shook his head. “Even if Roderick shows us the path, there’s not enough time. That blasted dragon–”

Fenris ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It seemed that there was no other choice. “We will fight the dragon,” he said bad-temperedly. 

Everyone stopped and looked at him. He scowled and folded his arms. “We have fought dragons before,” he said to Cullen. “Hawke, Varric and I. And Cassandra has fought them as well. We four will keep the damned dragon busy while the rest of you clear the Chantry.”

“But what about the mark?” Dorian asked. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “He will not have it,” he repeated. “Corypheus can face me if he wants. The only way he will take it is from my lifeless corpse.”

“And _that_ absolutely will not happen,” Hawke said fiercely. “Not on my fucking watch.” 

“Mine either,” Varric agreed.

“Nor mine,” Cassandra chimed in, to Fenris’s mild surprise.

Fenris lifted his chin and met Cullen’s eyes. “Are you in agreement?” he said quietly.

Cullen stared at him for a moment, and Fenris watched with satisfaction as his expression morphed from anger to determination. 

Cullen finally nodded. “Yes. Good. This is a… well, it is a plan. Thank you, Fenris.” Then he looked at Hawke. “If anyone will find some strange way to survive this situation, it’s you,” he said. 

Hawke smiled and winked at him. “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

Cullen flushed, then turned away to face their assembled people. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” 

Cole and Dorian helped Roderick to his feet as Cullen turned away to give orders to a handful of soldiers. Hawke looked up at Fenris. “Can I speak to you for a minute?” she said. 

He nodded, and they stepped away from the others into a quiet alcove. Hawke folded her arms and frowned at him. “All right. We need to talk about that whole throwing-yourself-on-top-of-me thing.”

Fenris wilted. “Right now?” he demanded. “Hawke, we’re about to fight a dragon–”

“Which is why we need to talk about it now,” Hawke insisted. “You can’t do that again. Fenris, you can’t,” she insisted as he scowled. “You can’t protect me by putting your body in the way. I’m rather fond of your body, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Would you rather have been burnt by the backlash of that dragon’s flame?” he demanded. 

“I can defend myself _and_ you perfectly well with barriers, and you know it,” she snapped. “I don’t need your protection if it results in you dying instead.”

“You make it sound like I was attempting to kill myself,” he complained. 

“Well, that’s kind of what it felt like,” she retorted. 

He threw his hands up in frustration. “What are you talking about? How can you say that?” he said angrily.

She sighed and ran a hand through her short dark hair. “Fenris…” She looked at him pleadingly. “You’ve been protecting me for years. Encouraging us to keep moving every couple of days, keeping me away from certain people… I saw what you were doing, and I let you do it. Maybe I shouldn’t have–”

“That was necessary,” he hissed. “I will not apologize for keeping you hidden from the Chantry. If you think–”

“Just let me talk, all right?” she snapped. She lowered her voice again. “You kept us hidden, just like you did for yourself when you were on the run from fucking Danarius. And you shouldn’t have been responsible for that. It shouldn’t have been _your_ job to keep us safe. I should’ve… But I let you take responsibility. I… I don’t know. It felt nice to not be in charge for once, and… Fenris, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

Her voice was shaking now, and his anger started to soften at the sound of her distress. He took a step closer to her. “Hawke, it was necessary,” he murmured. “I do not regret it. I would do it again.” 

“That’s the problem,” she blurted. “This whole protector thing of yours, it was… well, it wasn’t _fine_ before, but it was lower-risk when we were on the run. Avoiding people isn’t as risky as facing them head-on. But we aren’t hiding anymore now, and–”

He shook his head. “Hawke…”

“You’re acting like a bodyguard,” she said bluntly. 

He scowled. “What?” he said flatly.

“You’re acting as though you’re some fucking magister’s bodyguard, and you don’t even know you’re doing it,” she said. Her face was fierce, but her voice was thick with tears. “You’re taking hits when you don’t have to. You’re sacrificing yourself like your life doesn’t matter, and Fenris, I fucking hate it. Your life is just as valuable as mine, and you need to act like it.”

He gaped at her for a moment. This was ridiculous. It… no, she was wrong. He shook his head. “That’s not… I am not trying to get myself killed. I am just trying to keep you safe. You’re impulsive, you throw yourself into fights without thinking,” he accused. “You cannot do that anymore, not with these red lyrium-infected–”

She grabbed his hands. “That stupid dark future isn’t going to happen,” she told him firmly. “It won’t happen, all right? I know it’s haunting you, but you don’t need to worry.”

“That’s not… it is not that,” he lied. He’d told her more of what he’d seen in that terrible future in Redcliffe, but he didn’t want her worrying about how much it still disturbed him. “I am just being practical.” 

She gave him a skeptical look. “You think I don’t know you’re still dreaming about it? You talk in your sleep, you know. More now than you used to.” 

Fenris stared at her. She’d mentioned before that he talked in his sleep sometimes, but he hadn’t realized how revealing it was. 

“What did I...” He broke off. He didn’t really want to know what kinds of things he’d said, especially not right now. He shrugged irritably. “Hawke, listen–”

“No, _you_ listen,” she said fiercely. “Do not sacrifice yourself for me. And do _not_ stick with me on the battlefield. You make yourself predictable that way. I’ll stand back and throw fire and cast the barriers, and you’ll smash the bad guys’ skulls and rip out their hearts. We’ll fight them like we always have, and we’ll both be safe like we always are. Okay?” 

He clenched his jaw, then dragged a hand through his hair. “All right,” he snapped. “All right. Fine. But you will focus on defense,” he commanded. “If you must choose between protecting yourself and attacking an enemy–”

She tutted in annoyance. “So bloody bossy, you are.”

He cradled her neck in his palm. “Rynne,” he hissed. “Defense first. Do you understand?”

She sighed loudly. “Maker’s balls, you’re fucking stubborn. _Fine._ Defense first.” 

Fenris exhaled, then nodded. “Good,” he said. He released her neck and idly clenched his glowing left fist. “Good.”

They stood there for a moment in an awkward silence, both of them scowling at opposite walls of the Chantry. Then Fenris sighed angrily. “Come here,” he said, and he grabbed her hand.

She threw herself at him and kissed him hard, and Fenris lifted her clear off her feet in his eagerness to return her kiss. She gripped his neck and stroked his tongue with hers, and for a long, sweet second, he gave himself permission to sink into the solid feel of her body and the taste of her tongue.

When he lowered her back to her feet, she pulled away in a slow and lingering way. “That’s for luck,” she said, and she smiled. 

He tenderly stroked her cheek. “You are the garden in which everything good in my life has grown,” he told her. “You _are_ my life, Hawke. Do not let that go to waste.” 

Her smile broadened, and Fenris wiped away her tear with his thumb. “Shut up, you smooth talker,” she whispered. “I fucking love you.” 

He kissed her once more: a soft kiss for her even softer lips. Then he led her back to Cassandra, Toby, and Varric. 

Varric smirked at Fenris as they approached. “So,” he said. “Volunteering to fight a dragon, huh? Not really your style. That’s more _her_ kind of thing.” He jerked his head at Hawke.

Fenris shrugged irritably. “What other choice is there? These people need more time to escape. Cullen’s death wish is obviously not tenable. And we have killed a high dragon before.” 

“It was a good suggestion. A brave one,” Cassandra said. Her cheeks were bright red for some reason, but she was gazing approvingly at Fenris. “Even if we do not survive, we will give the Inquisition the time they need to escape.”

“Hey, who said we won’t survive?” Varric complained.

“We will,” Fenris snapped. He frowned at Cassandra. “There is only victory, Seeker. Have faith.”

Cassandra held his fierce gaze for a moment, and for the second time today, she smiled. 

She straightened her posture, then bowed her head slightly. “May Andraste guide your sword, Fenris,” she said.

He hesitated for a moment, then bowed his head in return. “And also yours.” 

“Maker’s balls, you guys aren’t making this into a thing, are you?” Hawke complained. She slung an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders. “We’re going to be fine! There’s no need for the well-wishes or any of that.”

“Like you should talk,” Varric said pointedly. “You and the broody one were hardly being subtle in the corner over there.”

“Varric,” Cassandra hissed, and Fenris awkwardly scratched the back of his head, but Hawke only laughed merrily. “Oh Varric, you’re just jealous. You can have a kiss too.” She bent over to hug him around the neck and kissed him noisily on the cheek. 

Toby wagged his tail happily, and Varric chuckled and patted her arm. “Thanks, Hawke, that’s great,” he drawled.

Cullen strode over to join them. He was frowning still, but he looked much calmer than before, for which Fenris was glad. “I sent half a dozen men to load the trebuchets,” he told them. “Keep the dragon’s attention until we’re above the treeline. We will set off flares when we’re safe.”

“Understood,” Fenris said, and Cassandra nodded sharply. 

“Safe trip, Curly,” Varric said. 

Hawke briefly squeezed Cullen’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Cullen,” she said warmly. “You’ll be in the mountains in no time.”

He exhaled slowly. “Thank you, Hawke,” he said. Then he nodded to them all. “Maker be with you,” he said, and he hurried off to join the rest of the Inquisition as they shuffled toward the secret passage.

Hawke took a deep breath, then crouched beside Toby once more. “Go on, boy,” she murmured to him. “Keep Cullen safe. He needs a good mabari right now.” 

Toby growled softly, and Hawke frowned at him. “Now now, none of that. We’ll see you soon.”

Toby looked up at Fenris pleadingly, and Fenris shook his head. “Go,” he told the mabari, and he scratched behind Toby’s ear. 

With one last mournful whimper, Toby turned away from them and joined the rest of the evacuating crowd. Hawke rubbed her nose, then turned to the others with a bright grin. “Let’s kill ourselves a dragon, shall we?”

Fenris nodded, and with no further preamble, they slipped out of the Chantry.

They moved through Haven as quickly as they could. A number of Templars – both normal- and corrupted-looking – were roaming through the settlement, and Fenris and the others engaged them, strategically drawing them away from the Chantry as they moved through Haven and toward the remaining trebuchet. 

Once they were at the trebuchet, Fenris swore under his breath. Cullen’s soldiers had managed to cock and load the machine, but all of them had been killed by Corypheus’s Templars.

There was no time to lament their passing, however; a twisted, groaning kind of roar drew their attention from the west.

Fenris whipped around, and his eyes widened. A huge, red lyrium-encrusted… _creature_ , for lack of a better word, was lumbering toward them. It was twice Fenris’s height, and its right arm was entirely overgrown by red lyrium, making it look like some kind of enormous misshapen crab. 

“Ew,” Hawke remarked. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty gross,” Varric agreed.

Fenris curled his lip. He clenched his fists, and his lyrium marks turned blue. He turned to Hawke. “Remember what I–” 

“Just go,” she said. She blew him a kiss, then threw a barrier over him and Cassandra. 

The two warriors belted toward the creature. Cassandra headed around to the left to flank it while Fenris pelted directly toward it with a roar. 

The creature took a swing at him with its huge red arm, but Fenris anticipated the move and slid beneath the arm, then swung his sword in a broad arc at its legs. He slashed one leg down to the bone and completely cleaved the other in half, and the creature toppled forward onto its face with a ground-shaking _thud_. 

“Nice!” Varric called out. He sent a trio of bolts directly into the creature’s head, and Cassandra leapt on top of it and slammed her sword through its back.

The creature released a cringeworthy roar of rage, but it was somehow still alive. Then Fenris heard Hawke’s voice. “To the west,” she yelled.

He turned to look: at least a dozen Templar foes were making their way over a nearby hill. 

A wall of ice suddenly rose directly in their path, impaling three of four of them with huge icy spikes and impeding the rest, many of whom smashed directly into the frozen obstacle. 

Fenris nodded his approval at Hawke’s quick move. He looked at Varric and Cassandra. “Take them,” he yelled. “Hawke and I will finish this creature off.” 

Varric and Cassandra nodded, and they all took to their separate tasks. 

The red lyrium creature had shoved itself halfway upright on its smaller left arm, and it was swinging in a wild violent arc with its right. Fenris swiftly parted the creature’s supporting left arm from its body and it fell onto its face again, but the enormous right arm was still waving madly like an obscene upturned beetle. 

Fenris sneered at it. Then he noticed a creeping of whitish-blue over the claw, crawling in frozen fractals across the surface of the limb.

Hawke’s spell covered the entire limb, freezing it until it was immobile. Then Fenris bashed the frozen claw with the pommel of his sword, smashing it to pieces, and finally he beheaded the filthy beast.

It twitched fitfully as its head rolled away, and Fenris nodded briskly at Hawke. She was standing about twenty paces away with Varric at her side, and a moment later, Cassandra jogged over to join them with her sword and shield still in hand. 

Fenris took a step toward them. “We should not be complacent. More will likely–” 

An ear-splitting, animalistic screech rent the air, and Fenris flinched at the sound. He looked up, and sure enough, Corypheus’s dragon was soaring closer, and its muzzle was glowing a deep, malevolent flaming red… 

“Fenris, come here!” Hawke screamed. Her palm was glowing with the signature flickering light of a nascent barrier, and her eyes were wide and panicked. 

He racked his sword on his back and bolted toward them, but before he could take more than a few steps, a livid red streak of dragonflame seared the ground between them. It started to flare and roil like lava, and Fenris stumbled back, then tried to run away–

The boiling line of flame on the ground exploded. Fenris threw up his arms, but he didn’t feel the heat. 

Instead, he felt a warm, familiar vibration.

A mage’s barrier. Hawke’s barrier. That meant – _fasta vass_ –

He ran toward the flaming debris that used to be the ground in front of the trebuchet. “Hawke!” he bellowed. “Varric! Cassan–” 

“We are here!” Cassandra yelled back. 

Fenris gasped in an anxious breath, then started to cough from the smoke. It sounded like Cassandra was in a well. Why did it sound like she was in a well? 

He coughed some more, then dragged in a breath. “Are you all right?” he rasped. “Are Hawke and Varric–?”

“I’m good,” Varric yelled back. He also sounded oddly as though he was calling out from underground. “Hawke is knocked out.” 

Fenris’s heart rate spiked. “What?” he snapped. “Is she overextended?” 

“No, just normal-knocked out,” Varric yelled back. “Seems like mages’ barriers don’t protect you from a fall. I guess cliffdiving off the Storm Coast is out.”

Fenris exhaled slowly. Varric sounded calm beneath the jokes, which meant Hawke was all right. Didn’t it?

Another teeth-rattling shriek tore through the air, and Fenris was thrown back by the sheer force of the wind as Corypheus’s dragon landed ten paces in front of him. 

He shoved himself upright and squinted through the fire and smoke, only to see Corypheus stepping out of the flames. Now that Fenris could see him clearly, he realized what was different about the magister.

His eyes widened. _Red lyrium_. It was sprouting from the magister’s face and barren ribs, but somehow the effect looked intentional rather than infective like the rest of Corypheus’s men.

The dragon roared – a ground-shaking, horrible sound – and Corypheus pointed at Fenris. “The slave from the Temple,” he proclaimed in his deep, ominous voice. “You toy with forces beyond your ken.”

“Mage,” Fenris spat. “I am not cowed by your magic or your monsters.” He slowly began to edge away from the well – or pit, or hole, or whatever it was – that Varric and the others had apparently fallen into. 

Corypheus took a step toward him. “Words that mortals hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” He pointed at Fenris again. “You think you bested me, but you see now that you were wrong.” He raised his arms melodramatically. “Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus!” 

Corypheus’s dragon circled around behind Fenris like an enormous cat. Fenris ignored the dragon and continued to slowly back away from Corypheus, drawing him away from the others. 

“If you think I will kneel before you, you are wrong,” he snarled. “I kneel before no magister.” 

“You will resist. You will always resist,” Corypheus replied. “It matters not.” From within his tattered robes, he pulled out a heavy-looking black orb about the size of a toddler’s head. He raised the orb slightly, and the ornate curving lines across its surface suddenly bloomed with light.

A green, sickly light that matched Fenris’s palm, which promptly burst to verdant life.

Fenris gaped at his hand as the now-familiar light began to swell across his skin. Then Corypheus spoke again. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” He thrust his free hand toward Fenris in a commanding gesture.

Fenris jerked forward. It was almost as though there was a magnet embedded in his palm that was being drawn to the orb.

He tried to resist, digging his bare heels into the snow-and-blood-churned dirt, but the pull from the orb was more than he could withstand. He fell to his knees to stop himself from moving any closer and tried to haul his arm back to his side, but it was immovable, irresistibly dragged toward Corypheus’s vile magic. 

“Impertinent slave,” Corypheus sneered. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you steal its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’ – what you flail at rifts – I crafted to assault the very heavens!” 

Fenris clutched his left wrist. His whole arm was shaking, trembling as though his bones were trying to shake their flesh loose, and the terrible pins-and-needles sensation was rippling from his palm to the tips of his fingers and back toward his elbow. 

He gritted his teeth against the horrible sensation, then glared at Corypheus. “You are a madman,” he spat. “Ego and hubris brought you this far, but you will get nothing from me. Do you hear me?” he bellowed. “I will give you _nothing!_ ” 

Behind Fenris, the dragon growled: a deep, rumbling sound that sent vibrations from the ground up through his knees. Corypheus’s hideous face twisted into a grimace of rage, and he strode toward Fenris, then grabbed his left wrist and hauled him off of his feet.

“Do not touch me!” Fenris roared, and he lashed out with a flare of lyrium-powered rage. 

Corypheus dropped him, and he hit the ground with a grunt. Then Corypheus grabbed him by the neck and lifted him once more. 

Fenris scrabbled at the misbegotten magister’s wrists, but Corypheus’s bony fingers were vicelike in their strength, and he couldn’t catch the breath to focus his lyrium scars again. 

“Hubris,” Corypheus said mockingly. “This is not _hubris._ I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption: dead whispers. For one thousand years I was confused, but no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.” He held Fenris even higher. “Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was _empty._ ” He spun and threw Fenris at the trebuchet.

A flare of pain lashed across his back and his head as he struck the huge siege machine. Dazed and breathless, he pried open his eyes. 

Corypheus was standing in front of his dragon with a furious snarl on his face. “The Anchor is permanent,” he announced. “You have spoiled with your stumbling, but no matter. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation – and god – it requires.” 

While Corypheus was blathering on, Fenris saw a hint of light from the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly, and sure enough, there it was: the distinctive arcing glimmer of a flare. 

Haven was empty. There was no need to keep Corypheus’s attention any longer. Fenris forced himself to think. If Varric, Cassandra and Hawke had gone unnoticed, and they were in some kind of a pit…

He surreptitiously looked around. _There._ Just below his feet, well within his reach, was Cassandra’s sword. And the pit where he’d heard their voices was maybe fifty paces away…

The magister took a step toward him. “As for you: I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. And thus, you will die.” He continued his slow approach. “Unfortunate that you bear my stolen magic, or I would return you to the station you deserve, _slave._ ” 

Fenris drew a deep and painful breath, then shoved himself away from the trebuchet. He lunged forward and grabbed Cassandra’s sword. “I am not a slave,” he roared, and he slammed the sword into the trebuchet ropes. 

The siege machine hurled its destructive load, and Fenris watched with vindictive satisfaction as it slammed into the mountain just above Corypheus’s approaching troops. 

The earth-shaking rumble of the avalanche began, and faster than Fenris even believed possible, the roaring waves of snow began rushing toward them. 

The dragon lifted its wings and released another terrible roar, but Fenris didn’t bother to give it a second glance. He ran full-tilt toward the place where Hawke and the others had fallen, gritting his teeth and running all the harder when his feet slipped in the mud- and blood-slick ground. 

The roaring of the avalanche was growing louder. The roiling cloud of snow was expanding. _Venhedis fasta vass,_ he was running out of time…

Then he saw the place where the others seemed to have fallen. In a spot where there used to be a gentle sloping hill, there was now a sharp drop, exactly like a wide-mouthed well of some kind.

A huge, dark shadow swooped overhead: the dragon was carrying Corypheus away. Then another equally huge and even more ominous shadow rose at the periphery of his vision, like a terrible white tidal wave. 

With a final, desperate burst of energy, Fenris flung himself at the well. As he tumbled down the sharp drop, his gauntleted fingers instinctively scrabbling at the brick walls for grips that he couldn’t find, he saw the wall of white rush over the mouth of the well, and then–

_Kaffas._ He couldn't breathe. He could only feel pain. Blunt, breathtaking pain in his hip, his shoulder, his head…

Then nothing. No snow. No pain. 

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I say this every week (and then deliver anyway), but the next chapter might be a bit later than usual; I have another writing deadline to meet this coming week.
> 
> Meanwhile, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to chat about Fen!


	13. The Dawn Will Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear commenters: AHHH I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I WILL REPLY, I PROMISE, but I had to get this chapter out. Can’t leave that cliffhanger hanging for too long! ~~So much for my note on the previous chapter about this one taking a while to write and you should ignore my endnotes forever apparently~~
> 
> Also, a very delayed shout-out to the crazy-talented [@essequamvideri20 on Tumblr,](https://essequamvideri20.tumblr.com/) who has graced us all with some incredible Fenquisition art to cry over. There is [this gorgeous commission,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/183973151528/pikapeppa-fenris-the-inquisitor) and [this heartbreaking art for Chapter 9, ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184159597893/essequamvideri20-yup-this-happened-first-im)and [this heartwarming art for Chapter 11, ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184391358152/essequamvideri20-is-it-good-enough-to-post)and then [her own portrait of Fenris the Inquisitor,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184416416143/lylypuceonarchive-essequamvideri20) since she is doing a Fenquisitor playthrough right now too!

Cold.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. His legs, his feet, his ears… everything was cold. 

Including the fleshy, wet _thing_ that nudged his face, then snuffled against his ear. But that feeling was oddly familiar. 

Fenris turned his head, then winced at the throb of pain that rippled across the back of his scalp. “Toby?” he croaked.

A puff of hot canine breath wafted across his face, and he winced again at the smell. With effort and not a little pain, he rolled from his right side onto his belly. 

His head was pounding from that small effort alone. He rested his cheek against the frozen ground and simply listened to Toby’s panting breaths for a moment. 

Toby whined and nudged his shoulder, and Fenris weakly lifted his hand to rest it limply on the mabari’s head. “Is Hawke all right?” he rasped. If Toby had made it to wherever the Haven refugees were camped and come back here, perhaps he had seen Varric and Cassandra bringing Hawke to safety along the way.

Toby gave a small bark, and Fenris could feel the rhythmic shaking of Toby’s body as he wagged his tail. 

With a painful sigh of relief, Fenris relaxed into the frozen ground. “Good,” he whispered.

Toby growled, then nudged Fenris’s ear with his nose again. Fenris feebly tried to push him away. “Stop,” he groaned. “You know I do not like that.”

Toby licked his face – an act that Toby knew was _not_ allowed – and Fenris finally opened his eyes to scowl at the mabari. Then his baleful gaze fell on Toby’s neck. 

He was wearing an impromptu collar made of thick rope and adorned with three small bottles. Fenris frowned curiously, then reached for the bottles. He opened one bottle and sniffed it: elfroot potion. 

_Clever,_ he thought. He looked at Toby. “Was this… Hawke did this?” he asked hopefully. 

Toby cocked his head to the side, and Fenris tried again. “Varric?”

Toby wagged his tail, and Fenris nodded, though with a bit more worry. So Hawke was probably still unconscious when Toby had left the Haven refugees to return here. She must have been quite sorely injured in her fall.

All the more reason for Fenris to get to his feet and get moving.

Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then drank the elfroot potion. He dropped the empty bottles and rested his elbows on his knees; his head felt distinctly woozy and it hurt to breathe, so it was likely that he had a concussion and some cracked ribs. All the more fortunate that Toby was here. 

He sat still for a few minutes until he could feel the elfroot easing his pain. Once his head had stopped spinning, he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Toby. 

“Lead the way, my friend,” he told the mabari.

Toby led him toward a brick-lined passageway, and it immediately became clear that this was not simply a well; the passages were wide enough for three people to walk abreast and tall enough for a man to comfortably walk. Perhaps it was part of the secret pilgrimage path that Roderick had mentioned, or some other relic of Haven’s past; Fenris had to admit he hadn’t had time to learn much about their former settlement, given the urgency of everything else. 

He was grateful for this passage, though. If it hadn’t been here, the avalanche would almost certainly have killed him. 

As he continued to follow Toby in silence, he became increasingly aware of the sensation in his left palm. It had been vibrating more obnoxiously than usual since they’d closed the Breach, and it seemed that Corypheus’s attempts to remove the mark had further exacerbated the irritation; it felt as though the mark’s vile magic was rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. Not in a painful way, but almost like an itch that sat deep beneath his skin and couldn’t be scratched. 

He irritably rubbed his palm with his right thumb. Then Toby stopped short and growled softly. 

Fenris looked up, then curled his lip in annoyance: a group of wraithlike demons were drifting in the passageway just ahead. 

He and Toby quietly crept closer to the demons. Fenris took a slow breath and prepared to lash the demons with a flare of lyrium-powered energy. He gathered his focus, then _pushed_ toward the edges of his tattooed skin.

But instead of flaring through his lyrium scars as he’d intended, his focus snapped into his left hand instead, and a blast of pure magic poured from his palm into the demon-filled passageway.

Fenris stumbled back in shock. The flare of magic was roiling in the air, and the demons were squalling and writhing. A moment later, the magic and the demons melted away, leaving the passage dark but clear of foes. 

Fenris gasped for breath and glared at his hand. A faint glow of magic still flickered in the cracks that lined his palm, but the vibration had settled back to its usual faint and ignorable hum. 

_Magic. Fucking unpredictable magic._ He inhaled deeply to calm his panic, then flinched as Toby leaned against his leg. 

He blew out an exasperated breath, then buried his fingers in the soft fur of Toby’s neck for a moment. He then waved his hand toward the passageway. “Come. Lead us forth from this cursed place,” he said. 

Toby licked Fenris’s hand, then trotted off down the passage. It wasn’t long before the temperature in the tunnel began to drop, and the distinctive rushing moan of wind reached his ears. A minute later, the passageway opened into the outdoors, and Fenris sighed. 

“A frozen wasteland,” he said ruefully to Toby. “As if I should have expected anything else.”

Toby barked, then eagerly nudged Fenris’s hand and bounded away toward the north, and Fenris followed the mabari’s path with considerably less enthusiasm.

The trek through the snow was wearying, to say the very least. Fenris was accustomed to his feet being cold, but not for such a prolonged period of time. He already felt chilled from lying unconscious in that secret passage for who knew how long, and every step through the steadily deepening snow was effortful. He gritted his teeth and pushed through his fatigue, focusing his attention on Toby’s energetic form as the mabari leapt and rolled through the snow. 

“I am glad that someone is enjoying himself,” he called out, and Toby barked happily in response. 

As the day went on, Fenris’s amusement with Toby’s antics began to fade along with the fading of the albeit-faint light of day, and it was all that Fenris could do to keep one frozen foot moving in front of the other. By the time sunset rolled around and the blustering snow had finally begun to clear, Fenris was forced to use Toby’s muscular shoulder for support as he dragged his stiffening legs through the unending snow. 

Finally, at long last, he spotted the orange flicker of a flame about a hundred paces ahead. He heaved a sigh of relief and continued his clumsy tread through the snow. His feet and legs were now numb, and the effects of the elfroot were starting to wear off, rendering each breath to a painful burn. 

Toby whined softly, and Fenris shook his head. “It’s all right,” he rasped. He took another agonizing breath. “I am all right. We… are almost there.” He drew strength from the warmth of Toby’s thick fur and forced himself onward. 

When the glow of the fire was about fifty paces away, Fenris’s tired eyes picked out the shape of five figures clustered around the fire. Toby barked loudly, and one of the figures stood up. 

“Fenris?” she called, and Fenris collapsed to his knees in relief at the sound of her voice. 

“ _Fenris!_ ” Hawke screamed his name and started to run toward him, but one of the other figures held her back while two others ran toward him instead: Cullen and Varric. 

“Thank the Maker you survived,” Cullen gasped. “Varric was fairly certain you had. We were about to mount a search party.” He hauled Fenris to his feet and helped him toward the fire. 

Varric patted Fenris’s arm. “You okay, elf? Always knew Hawke kept the mabari around for something.” He smiled at Toby, who was leaping excitedly through the snow once more. 

“I am well,” Fenris mumbled. He managed a faint smile at Varric, then looked toward the fire again. Hawke was on her feet with a blanket around her shoulders, and Dorian had one restraining arm around her while Solas stood at attention at her other side. As he, Cullen, and Varric drew closer, he noted with alarm the pallor of Hawke’s face and the matted darkness of blood in the hair near her left temple. 

Cullen eased Fenris into a seated position by the fire. “I will let the others know you’re here. We will prepare you a bedroll, and I will fetch a healer,” he said, and he ran off.

Toby settled his big warm body directly on Fenris’s feet, and Hawke hurried around the fire. “Here,” she said urgently, and she arranged her blanket around his shoulders. 

It held the heat of her body, and Fenris shivered slightly at the comforting feel. Then she was cupping his face in her soft warm hands, and Fenris met her shining amber eyes. 

“I knew you’d be fine,” she said tremulously. Her fingers stroked his cold cheeks. “I knew you would. I just knew it. I didn’t give up, Fenris. I promised you, remember? I didn’t give up.”

He pressed one reassuring hand over her shaking fingers. This wasn’t what he had meant; he had meant for her to not give up on _herself_ if something happened to him. But now wasn’t the time to argue the point. 

He carefully studied her face. “I understand that you were badly injured,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. She settled beside Fenris and began rubbing his arms as though to warm him up. “I wanted to go find you myself, but _he_ wouldn’t let me.” She shot Varric a resentful look.

Dorian rolled his eyes and smirked at Varric, whose face was a picture of weary patience. “Maker, she is stubborn, isn’t she?” Dorian said. He looked at Fenris. “She broke her leg and got smacked on the head by a rock. The only way she’d have gone to find you is in a palanquin, and I can guarantee you no one would be carrying _that_ down the mountain.”

Fenris’s eyes widened at the description of her injuries, and Hawke tutted. “Oh Dorian, you’re so dramatic. I was fine as soon as the mage healers got to me.”

“Sure, dramatic,” Varric drawled. “And the blood that was pooling in your broken leg was no big deal.”

“Blood?” Fenris said sharply. His critical gaze darted over her face and body once more. “Is that why you look so pale?”

“Oh no,” Hawke said loftily. “That’s just the cold.” She ignored Varric and Dorian’s skeptical snorts. “I certainly hope that Crestwood place is warm and sunny,” she chirped. “I could use a tan, don’t you think?” She continued to briskly rub his arms. 

He winced. “Please stop,” he said faintly. Her rubbing was jostling his head and ribs, which were becoming increasingly painful. 

She instantly stopped. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “Are you hurt? What can I fix?”

He shook his head. “No. You… need to heal yourself,” he said. He swallowed hard; his throat felt so dry. “I will wait for another healer.”

She frowned at him. “Fenris, I’m not overextended. Let me fix this.” 

He took another slow, quiet breath and shook his head, but Hawke’s eyes were darting over his body. She closed her eyes and muttered, and her palms glowed with the soothing green light of her healing magic. 

“Hawke, don’t,” he mumbled, but it was too late; she was cradling his temples in her hands, and his pounding headache was already ebbing away. Then her gentle glowing fingers were pressing his ribs, and the moment he winced in pain, she stroked his ribs and smoothed the pain away. 

He closed his eyes in undeniable relief. Then Solas spoke. “Here. Take this.”

Fenris opened his eyes. Solas was holding out a waterskin, and he nodded slightly as Fenris met his eyes. “You have survived Corypheus yet again,” he said. “An admirable feat.”

Fenris shook his head and took the waterskin. “Not admirable. Just necessary,” he said shortly. He gulped thirstily from the waterskin, then handed it back with a nod of thanks. Now that he wasn’t in pain, the exhaustion seemed to be creeping in on him even more swiftly than before. 

He rubbed his face roughly to try and wake himself up. “Corypheus has a magical item,” he said. “A black magical orb of some kind. He tried to use it to take back the mark.” He looked at Solas. “Perhaps it is what he used to construct it in the first place.”

Solas was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “I am certain you are correct. An item that powerful…” He rubbed his chin. “It is likely the source of his power. He cannot be allowed to retain it.”

“No, he can’t,” Fenris agreed. “It must be destroyed.” 

Solas shot him a sharp look, and Dorian huffed. “Radical alternative: we could, you know, study it. Figure out how Corypheus came to use it in the first place.” He gave Fenris a humorous look. “Learning new things is good sometimes, you know.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the Tevinter mage. “What is it that makes you think I am so averse to learning new things? Is it because I was a slave? I was not taught to read in Tevinter, so you take me for a thickheaded fool?”

“No,” Dorian drawled. “I think you don’t like learning because you’re always saying things like, ‘oh, strange magical item I don’t understand. Let’s smite it into pieces before we understand how it was made!’”

Fenris leaned forward slightly. “There is a fine line between learning how something was made, and learning how to exploit it for personal gain,” he snarled. “You enjoy dancing on that line, _mage_. Forgive me if I prefer to avoid the inevitable risks.” He pointed an accusing finger at Dorian. “Do not think I have forgotten about Alexius’s amulet. I know it remains in your possession.” 

“Oh look, yet another thing you don’t know,” Dorian said snidely. “I don’t have it, in fact. I gave it to Felix.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “To Felix?” Why would Dorian give the amulet to Felix? From all the gossip Fenris had heard during his time in Tevinter, Felix was a rather weak mage, more suited to academic than magical studies. He wouldn’t be able to help Dorian determine the workings of the amulet. 

“Yes, to Felix,” Dorian said. He folded his arms. “Perhaps I thought you would feel more comfortable knowing it was not in _my_ possession, seeing as how fond you are of me. And if there is mage I know who is painfully, boringly incorruptible, it’s Felix. The amulet will be safe with him.”

Fenris eyed Dorian suspiciously for a moment. Giving Felix the amulet wasn’t as good as destroying it, but it was something. “I see,” he said.

Dorian huffed and looked away. 

Everyone was awkwardly quiet for a moment. Then Fenris pursed his lips. “I apologize, Dorian,” he said grudgingly. 

Dorian shot him a very skeptical look, then softened slightly. “You’re serious.”

Fenris clenched his jaw, then nodded once. “Yes. I am sorry for… my assumptions,” he muttered. “You did, after all, undo Alexius’s spell.” _And you saved Hawke from that terrible future,_ he added silently. 

“Hmm,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “Well. That’s… well. Apology accepted, I suppose.” He grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d like to kiss and make up?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and Hawke slid her fingers over Fenris’s palm. “Not unless you want to go through me, my handsome friend,” she said playfully to Dorian. 

Dorian chuckled, and Toby wagged his tail. Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head hang forward. If only he could close his eyes for just a few minutes… 

Hawke squeezed his hand. “Come. We should get you to the camp proper. You can lie down and get some sleep.”

Fenris nodded; he was too exhausted to pretend anymore that he wasn’t dying for a bedroll. He allowed her to support him with an arm around his waist as the five of them made their way to the main camp, with Toby bolting off ahead of them.

Fenris sighed. “Corypheus said some troubling things,” he said tiredly. He wanted to get this out before he lay down, in case he forgot. “He said he went into the Fade a thousand years ago. Physically entered the Fade, and that… he said the Black City was empty when he got there.”

“What?” Dorian said sharply. 

“Seriously?” Varric said incredulously.

Hawke scoffed. “Come on. Everything he claims is bullshit. He’s delusional.” 

“Perhaps,” Fenris mumbled. In truth, he was too tired to think much about what Corypheus had said. “I am simply passing on what he said, because it elucidates his plans. He wishes to restore Tevinter to its old glory and to become the one true god over all of Thedas.”

“Shit,” Varric said. 

Solas sighed. “That certainly is illuminating.” 

Fenris nodded; Solas sounded as weary about the idea as Fenris felt. Then Hawke _tsk_ ed loudly. “What is it with people being so obsessed with becoming a god, or making a god happy, or all of that crap? It’s not enough to just make yourself and the people around you happy?” 

Varric chuckled. “Unpopular opinion you have there, Hawke. Better watch your mouth around the others.” 

“An interesting opinion, though,” Dorian said. He gave Hawke a curious look. “You’re not Andrastian, I take it?”

“Nope,” Hawke said airily. “I’m not a religion kind of girl. The only temple I worship at is this handsome elf’s body.” She squeezed Fenris’s waist.

Fenris sighed tiredly. “ _Kaffas_ , Hawke, you will make me blush,” he muttered. The Inquisition’s makeshift camp was in view now, and Fenris hopefully eyed the ramshackle collection of tents. Hopefully Cullen had done as he’d said and earmarked a bedroll for him. 

Dorian, meanwhile, pressed on with the discussion. “What do you make of all this, then?” he asked Hawke. “What Corypheus said to Fenris about the Black City? You really think that’s all… what, lies and delusions?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “Think about it. Delusions are constrained by what you already know. If you’re a crazy dwarf from Orzammar, you might have delusions about becoming a Titan. If you’re a crazy Dalish, maybe you have delusions about, I don’t know, turning into Fen’Harel or something. So of course the crazy ancient Tevinter magister has delusions about going into the Fade and seeing the Golden City already black. A well-known piece of his own culture got twisted in his head to meet his tyrannical goals.” She looked at Fenris and Varric in turn. “I mean, we already know he’s off his rocker, right? Remember how he made no sense when we were in his prison?” 

“That’s true,” Varric said slowly. But Fenris shook his head. 

“Corypheus is not the same as he was then,” Fenris said. “The way he spoke… He is no longer addled, Hawke. For all intents and purposes, it seems that his thinking is clear.” He frowned as he remembered another important and dangerous fact.

“He is enhanced by red lyrium,” he said bluntly. “It is sprouting from his skin, almost like Meredith. But… it seems to have no impact on his thinking.”

Hawke’s eyebrows rose, and the skepticism left her face. “Fuck. That is… not good.” 

Dorian frowned deeply. “That’s exceedingly bad, in fact.” 

They were all quiet for a moment. Then Dorian turned to Solas. “What do _you_ think of all this, Solas? You’re not Andrastian. This must be especially strange for you.”

“And why is that?” Solas said. “Because I am elvhen?”

“Well, yes,” Dorian said. “And you – well, I suppose I assumed you believe in the old elven gods.”

“I believe the elvhen gods existed, yes,” Solas said. “As for this Corypheus’s claims…” He shrugged. “No real god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying.” 

Hawke smiled at him. “So you agree with me about Corypheus being cuckoo, then.”

Varric glanced over at Solas. “So you believe in the elves’ gods. But how does that fit together with the Maker? If Corypheus isn’t lying about the Black City–”

“Oh come on, Varric, he has to be lying,” Hawke interjected. “The Black City is not a real actual place like the Chantry says. It’s just some weird reflection of reality in the Fade.”

Varric scratched his stubbled chin. “I dunno, Hawke. A lot of different writers and academics through the years have described the Black City pretty consistently.”

“Because it’s what they expect to see,” Hawke said patiently. “It’s like Solas says: the Fade is shaped by people’s expectations. If a mage goes into a dream expecting to see the Black City, then that’s what they’ll see.”

Solas shot Hawke an appraising look, and Dorian sighed. “ _Kaffas_ , this is getting confusing,” he complained. 

Fenris had to agree. The issue had been confusing enough to start with, and Hawke’s skepticism was not mixing well with Varric’s pragmatism or with Fenris’s long-standing uncertainty about the reality of the Maker, or with Corypheus’s disturbingly well-articulated claims.

He rubbed his forehead. He didn’t have the capacity to think about this right now. He was frankly relieved when Cassandra’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Fenris! Come this way. There is a bedroll ready for you, over here…” 

He nodded gratefully as she ushered him beneath the shelter of a large makeshift shared tent. “Cassandra,” he said. “I am glad to see you alive.” He sat on the bedroll with a groan of relief, and Hawke solicitously sat beside him as Dorian and Solas drifted away, still debating the issue of gods and monsters and the Fade. 

“As I am to see you,” Cassandra said fervently. She rubbed her hands together nervously. “I apologize for not remaining to see you to safety. I broke my word to you, and… I hope you will forgive me. But we – Hawke was sorely injured, and I… we could have stayed behind, but–” 

“No, Seeker, we couldn’t have,” Varric said. His patient tone indicated that he and Cassandra had had this discussion many times already. “Hawke would have died if we hadn’t gotten her here when we had. Then Fenris would have murdered us for letting something happen to her.”

Fenris’s stomach swooped at the thought of Hawke avoiding another near-brush with death, and Hawke tutted loudly. “All of you bloody assholes acting as though I’m made of glass,” she complained. “Honestly, I’m–” 

Fenris squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Varric, Cassandra,” he interrupted firmly. “For looking after her.”

Hawke pulled her hand from his grip and lightly punched his arm. “What did I tell you?” she hissed. “My life isn’t worth more than yours!”

He turned to her with a glare. “That is not the point. It was a sound strategic decision on their part,” he argued. “There were two lives in danger. Varric and Cassandra saved the one that was in obvious danger of death, assuming the other was either less severely injured or already dead.” 

“But you weren’t dead!” Hawke protested. “You needed help, and they–” 

“They sent Toby to bring me back,” Fenris said. “Cullen said they were about to send a search party. And we are both here now, and both alive. It was the right decision.” He stared at Cassandra sternly. “You made the right decision to bring her here.” 

Cassandra’s expression remained uncertain. “I understand your point,” she said. “And I am glad that Hawke is safe and well. But the fact remains that only you can close the rifts, Fenris. You are the one with the mark, and you are the one our people have been looking up to for inspiration. It…” She trailed off, then bowed her head briefly. “It is extremely fortunate that you survived. Not just for those who care for you,” she glanced at Hawke and Varric, “but for us all.”

Fenris frowned at her, but her gaze was steady with conviction. She took a step back. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must rejoin the others. Plans must be made, whether we are ready to make them or not.” She cast a resentful glance at Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana, who seemed to be deeply entrenched in an argument, then turned away to join them. 

Hawke turned to him with a scowl. “See?” she said. “Cassandra thinks–”

“Hawke, stop,” Fenris said flatly. He ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t argue about this further. We are both safe and well. There is no point dwelling on what might have been.” 

She was quiet for a moment, then she stroked his jaw with her thumb. “No, there isn’t,” she said softly. 

He gazed at her in confusion. Then he realized what she meant. 

The dark future. The terrible memories of Hawke encrusted with red lyrium, and the evil red tears that trickled from her eyes. A future that might have happened, but which was narrowly avoided – so very narrowly.

He swallowed hard. It wasn’t the same. How could he forget something so terrible when it continued to haunt his dreams?

He didn’t reply. Hawke quickly kissed his lips, then rose to her feet. “I’ll bring you some hot broth,” she said. “Get cozy, all right? Varric will tell you a bedtime story.” She winked at Varric, then walked away.

Fenris looked at Varric. Varric gazed back at him. Then they both chuckled. 

Fenris sighed and finally lay back on the bedroll. He covered his eyes with his arm. “ _Fasta vass._ I am… beyond the limits of tired,” he groaned. 

“I bet,” Varric drawled, and they chuckled again. Varric took a seat on the ground beside the bedroll, and Fenris cracked open one eye and looked at him. 

“How _did_ you know I was alive?” he asked. “How did you know to send Toby?”

Varric shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t really know for sure,” Varric said. “But I had faith in you.”

His tone was casual as always, but he was toying idly with one of his earrings as he spoke. Fenris sat up on his elbows and frowned slightly. “Faith?” he said. “You mean…?”

Varric smirked slightly. “You never thought to wonder if the dwarf believes in good ol’ Andraste, huh?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t. In all the years he’d known Varric, they’d never really discussed religion. They talked about most things – books and politics and cards and their friends and Hawke, but somehow religion had never really come into it. Fenris had assumed Varric was an atheist like Hawke, since he always chuckled at Hawke’s jokes. But now, with Varric’s comment about _faith_... 

“Do you?” Fenris asked. “Believe in Andraste and the Maker, that is?”

Varric shrugged. “Sure. I mean, yeah. I’m not… I mean, I’m no Sebastian. But… generally speaking, yeah, I do.” 

“Oh,” Fenris said blankly. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he was quiet. 

Then Varric broke the silence. “What about you, elf? What’s your take on all of this? Do you think you’re the Herald of Andraste?”

Fenris frowned at him. “How can I? We know now where the mark came from. It was an accident of magic by an evil magister.”

“I guess,” Varric said. “But… still. What are the chances?”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “What do you mean?”

Varric shrugged. “I mean, the chances that you stepped in just in time to take that mark from Corypheus. And that it was _you_ who did it – a former slave of Tevinter, just like Andraste. And a guy who hates magisters enough to willingly face off against one, and to make it out alive three separate times. It’s… a pretty spectacular story, if you think about it.”

Fenris scoffed. “You and your damned stories,” he said. But now that he thought about it, Cassandra had once said something similar: that his Tevinter slave history drew some interesting parallels with Andraste. 

He shook his head. “Hawke would say it is all a coincidence. Sheer dumb luck and chance.”

“I know what Hawke thinks,” Varric said. “I’m wondering what _you_ think. You’re the centerpiece in this shit, after all.”

Fenris grunted. He strongly disliked the idea of being the centerpiece of this whole debacle, true though it might unfortunately be. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, Varric,” he said honestly. “I don’t know what to think. About the Maker, or Andraste, or the Fade. It… I have never quite been sure what to think.” His gaze drifted over to Cassandra, who was deep in argument with Cullen and the others. 

“I envy Cassandra sometimes,” he confessed to Varric. “She is so sure of her faith. She draws strength from it. That kind of certainty must be comforting.”

“That’s funny,” Varric said. “Because I think she envies _your_ certainty.”

Fenris recoiled in surprise. “ _My_ certainty? With what?”

“All this Inquisition stuff,” Varric said. He gestured vaguely at the camp. “The mages. Fighting the dragon. Other stuff.”

Fenris frowned. “But that… I’m not… Making a decision is not the same as being certain about it,” he said. 

Varric shrugged. “Don’t tell Cassandra that. I’m pretty sure her faith in the Maker extends to you.”

Fenris scrunched his face up, then lay back on the bedroll. That was not an entirely welcome thought. He’d been growing quite comfortable around Cassandra. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him as some kind of prophet. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Perhaps you should tell me a bedtime story after all.”

Varric snickered. “Not a chance. I know that’s you and Hawke’s special thing. I’m not getting involved in that.”

Fenris smirked without opening his eyes. “Don’t worry, Varric, you are not my type.”

Varric laughed again at the long-standing joke. Then the two men fell quiet.

Fenris inhaled slowly, then exhaled and listened to the sounds of the camp. It was relatively quiet, all things considered; the talk was subdued and soft, punctuated by the soft clanking of ladles in cooking pots and the whinnying of Dennet’s horses. Fenris was rather surprised that there were so few sounds of distress or pain. 

He sighed and rolled onto his side, then pulled up his blanket and nestled his head on his folded arm. He would just rest for a little while until Hawke came back. 

When he finally heard her voice again, it felt soft and heavy, like it was coming to him from far away. “Is he asleep?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Varric replied. “You want to wake him?”

“No, no,” Hawke whispered. “He can eat later. Let him sleep. He needs it.”

 _So do you,_ Fenris thought. He tried to say it, but his whole body felt heavy and warm from his eyelids down to his feet, almost like he was sinking in a warm bath, and it would be far too much effort to speak. 

The bedroll shifted slightly as she sat beside him. Then Varric spoke again in a soft voice. “He’s coping well with all of this, huh?”

“Of course he is,” Hawke said. “He can cope with anything. But he shouldn’t have to.”

Her voice was soft, and it drifted through Fenris’s idle mind like a lullaby. Her fingers carefully smoothed a tuft of hair back from his face, and she traced the tip of his ear with her fingers. Then she spoke again. “He never wanted this. More fucking magic on his body. I hate that this has happened to him.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her voice wasn’t quite as soft now; it was quiet still, but harder than before.

Varric’s quiet reply was wry. “You know it’s never just been about the magic for him,” he said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be with you.”

“I know,” Hawke said softly. “And that’s my point. Healing magic and barriers are one thing. But this fucking mark from Corypheus? Magic that we don’t understand from a person who won’t explain it, stuck in his body even though he doesn’t want it. It’s all a little too familiar, don’t you think?” 

Varric hummed in acknowledgement. Then Hawke spoke once more, and her quiet voice was hard as steel. 

“It won’t happen again,” she said. “If any more weird magic comes anywhere near him… not a fucking chance. I won’t let it. I’ll kill anyone who tries.” She tucked another strand of hair behind his ear. 

Varric chuckled. “The two of you are something else. It’s like your whole relationship is built out of violence and bad jokes.” 

“And sex,” Hawke added. “Don’t forget sex.”

Varric snorted. “And that’s my cue to leave. Get some rest, Hawke.”

She chuckled softly. “Thanks, Varric,” she whispered. A moment later, she was snuggling up behind Fenris on the bedroll. 

She draped her arm around his waist, and Fenris could feel her settling her forehead between his shoulder blades. Moments later, the heat of her body started to seep through his back. 

_I love you,_ he thought. But his lips wouldn’t move, and his body was heavy and warm, weighed down and heated by Hawke. Her chest rose and fell against his back in a slow, soft rhythm, and finally, with the comforting certainty of her breathing body behind him, Fenris fell fully asleep.

*************************

He was woken some time later by Cullen’s strident voice.

“... who put you in charge? We need a consensus or we have nothing!”

“Please, we must use reason,” Josephine pleaded. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we are hobbled.”

“That can’t come from nowhere!” Cullen retorted.

“She didn’t say it could,” Leliana snapped.

“Enough!” Cassandra commanded. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Fenris scowled sleepily and wrinkled his nose. Then a hand touched his shoulder. 

He jerked instinctively at the unexpected touch. “Don’t,” he hissed. Behind him, Hawke moaned softly in her sleep, then tightened her arm around his waist.

The strange hand moved away. “Hush, Herald,” a soft female voice whispered. “You need rest.”

Fenris cracked open his eyes. Mother Giselle was sitting on a stool beside his bedroll.

He stared at her for a moment. Then he slowly sat up, carefully shifting Hawke’s arm so as not to wake her. He slid off of the bedroll, then carefully rearranged the blanket around Hawke’s sleeping form. 

His gaze lingered for a moment on the dried blood at her temple. Then he rose and sat on another camp stool beside Mother Giselle. “What is the time?” he said softly. 

“Nearly midnight,” the Chantry mother replied. 

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “They have been arguing for hours?”

She smiled faintly. “They have that luxury now, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.” Her eyes dropped to her lap. “Infighting may threaten as much as Corypheus.”

Fenris frowned. “What blame is there to cast? We were attacked. It is done. We should move on.”

Giselle smiled again. “Such clarity for one so young,” she said softly. “But our situation – _your_ situation – is complicated.”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “How so? The most pressing problem is clear. We require shelter.”

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed,” Giselle explained. She gestured reverently at him. “We saw our defender stand and fall. And now, we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained.”

Fenris recoiled slightly. “No,” he said slowly. “That’s… that is false. There was no miracle. I did not die in the avalanche.” 

“Of course,” Giselle said softly. “And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw… or perhaps what they needed to see.” She turned to look at him more fully. “The Maker works both in the moment, and how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

Fenris stared at her in confusion. Then he looked over at Cassandra and the others. “This is why they are arguing? A crisis of faith?”

Giselle lifted her shoulders. “Can you blame them? Is it not hard to accept what we have been called to endure? What we, perhaps, must come to believe?”

Fenris looked at her once more. Her expression was polite and benevolent, and Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“You did not care for me when we first met,” he said. The Chantry mother had never been outwardly hostile, but she had never shown him the warmth that was showing now. He gestured at the makeshift camp. “Has this changed your mind as well, then? You are suddenly of the belief that I am… that these difficulties we face are trials from the Maker?”

She bowed her head. “You have shown yourself brave and just. A warrior worthy of Andraste’s favour. Your initial circumstances notwithstanding, you are most worthy of the Inquisition’s esteem. Our people have great faith in you, and that is no small matter.”

 _Initial circumstances…?_ Fenris wondered. Did she mean the fact that he was an elf? Probably. The Chantry had never really had a place for even the most faithful elves. 

He shook his head dismissively. Whether Giselle approved of him or not, she was a mother of the Chantry. Perhaps she could shed some light on Corypheus’s claims. “I assume you have heard by now what Corypheus said to me,” he said. “That he entered the Fade and found the Golden City already black and empty. What are your thoughts on that?”

“If Corypheus entered that place, it has changed him without and within,” Mother Giselle said. “The living are not meant to make that journey. An empty throne of the Maker…” She shook her head. “Perhaps these are lies he must tell himself, rather than accept that he earned the Maker’s scorn. I know I could not bear such. And if even a shred of it is true…” She tilted her head, and the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile. “All the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. Giselle seemed determined to believe he was Andraste’s chosen, despite the obvious truth that the mark on his hand was a magical mistake. 

It was interesting, though, that she too thought Corypheus was lying. But Hawke thought Corypheus was lying because he was insane. Mother Giselle clearly thought he was lying to hide from the Maker’s scorn. 

But what if Corypheus had told the truth, and there was no Maker? If that was true, then what was the nature of the Black City, if not the Maker’s kingdom? Simply a reflection of dreamers’ minds, like Hawke believed? Or… perhaps the Maker existed, but had somehow left the Fade. How would they ever know?

He ran a hand through his hair. “It is irrelevant for now,” he said. “The most pressing concern is shelter. We can’t remain in these mountains indefinitely.”

“Fenris is right,” Hawke said, and Fenris jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t even known she was awake. 

“All of this is academic,” Hawke said. She was sitting up in the bedroll and frowning at Mother Giselle. “Knowing whether Corypheus spoke the truth or not doesn’t exactly help us if we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with no place to live.”

Fenris nodded in agreement, then sighed. He supposed someone ought to remind Cullen and the others of that fact. 

He pushed himself to his feet, and Hawke started to get up as well. “Do you want–?”

“No,” he said gently. He gingerly brushed his fingers over the dried blood at her temple. “Rest, Hawke. I will speak to them.” 

She frowned slightly, then took his hand in hers. But before she or Fenris could say anything more, Mother Giselle began to sing.

_Shadows fall_  
_And hope has fled_  
_Steel your heart_  
_The dawn will come_

She rose to her feet and continued to sing. Then, to Fenris’s great surprise, Leliana began to sing as well in a sweet, high voice.

_The night is long_  
_And the path is dark_  
_Look to the sky_  
_For one day soon_  
_The dawn will come_

One by one, the refugees from Haven turned toward Giselle and joined in the human hymn, and a chill ran down Fenris’s spine. He’d never witnessed anything like this before – this kind of impromptu mass show of faith. 

Then a more uncomfortable ripple ran across his skin as he realized the refugees weren’t looking at Giselle: they were looking at him. Their eyes were on Fenris’s face as they continued to sing, and to his horror, many of them began to kneel. 

_Bare your blade_  
_And raise it high_  
_Stand your ground_  
_The dawn will come_

Villagers and soldiers and mages alike all began to kneel at his feet, like parishioners at a Chantry. He stood frozen with shock, his skin crawling with discomfort, and… _kaffas_ , there were so many of them all staring at him, and he didn’t know quite where to look.

But Hawke was still holding his hand. She squeezed his fingers, and he finally dropped his gaze to the ground and focused on the feel of her fingers in his palm instead. 

_The night is long_  
_And the path is dark_  
_Look to the sky_  
_For one day soon_  
_The dawn will come._

The song trailed away into the cold night air, and Hawke slowly rose to her feet. “Well, that was awkward,” she muttered, very quietly. 

Fenris smiled nervously. Then Mother Giselle stepped up beside him. “An army needs more than an enemy,” she said quietly. “It needs a cause.”

Fenris didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure how to. The refugees from Haven were rising to their feet, but the looks on their faces – the warmth and the reverence, and the respect… 

He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t know what to make of it. The only people who had looked at him with any kind of warmth or respect were Hawke and her friends in Kirkwall, excluding Anders and Merrill. 

_And Cassandra, as of late,_ he reminded himself. _And Blackwall as well._ Dorian was not so terrible either, if Fenris was honest. Oh, and Bull had always been friendly. Sera was affable, too, in her own odd way. And Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had always listened to his opinions… 

Fenris rubbed his mouth. There was an odd sensation swelling in his chest and throat. He took a step away from the assembled refugees, wishing more than ever that he could sink into the familiarity of the shadows.

Hawke stepped closer to him. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

He shrugged and looked away from Haven’s people, only to meet Solas’s pensive grey eyes. 

The elven mage stepped away from the edge of the tent and approached him and Hawke. “May I have a word?” he said to Fenris. He nodded politely to Hawke. “If you will excuse us.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows and looked at Fenris, and Fenris nodded a silent reassurance. It wasn’t as though this night could get any more peculiar. 

She released his hand. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” she said playfully to Solas, and she turned and walked away. 

Solas nodded his head to the south, and Fenris silently followed him. They walked about fifty paces away from the camp back in the direction that they’d come earlier that day, until they were beyond the range of the camp’s flickering fires. 

Then Solas turned to him and folded his hands behind his back. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he said. “Their faith is hard-won and worthy of pride, save one detail.” He tilted his head. “The orb that Corypheus carries? It is ours.”

Fenris frowned. “Ours?”

“It is elvhen,” Solas clarified. “When Corypheus used it to open the Breach, unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived. And… we must prepare for the humans’ reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this? Your forays into the Fade?”

The corners of Solas’s lips lifted slightly, and he nodded. “All that remain are references in ruins and faint visions of memory: echoes of a dead empire. From what I have learned, such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. Solas kept referring to ‘our’ people and ‘our’ gods, as though he and Fenris shared some significant history. “Perhaps you forget that I am not Dalish,” he said. “I know little of the elven pantheon.”

“Perhaps _you_ forget that I am not Dalish either,” Solas said. “But the fact still stands: however Corypheus came to possess the orb, it is elvhen. And with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Fenris frowned. He dropped his gaze to his own bare feet, and his eyes tracked idly over to Solas’s feet, which were equally bare. 

He lifted his chin to look Solas in the eye. “You are foreign among these people,” he said bluntly. “Moreso than I, perhaps. You are not Dalish. You speak poorly of them. Yet you know more about Dalish religion and language than any Dalish elf I have ever met.”

Solas’s expression hardened slightly, and he turned away. “The Dalish seek to preserve the ways of ancient Elvhenan,” he said. “They do not know those ways any more clearly than you do.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “And yet, your information about the ancient elves is obtained from the Fade, which you have admitted is constructed from the subjective memories and reflected thoughts of the people who have touched it.” He folded his arms skeptically. “How can you claim to pull facts from fragments of memories and dreams?”

Solas shot him a sharp look, and they locked eyes for a brief moment. Then Solas smiled faintly. “An astute observation, for a… non-magical warrior,” he murmured. 

Fenris grunted and looked away. “Mages are not the only ones capable of thought,” he muttered resentfully. “As much as you may like to think you are.”

“Hmm,” Solas murmured. 

Fenris glanced at him. His expression was thoughtful as it traced over Fenris’s face, and Fenris scowled; Solas had that studious look again, the one that annoyed Fenris so much. 

Fenris pursed his lips, then unfolded his arms. “Humans will cast their blame as widely as a dandelion casts its seeds,” he said brusquely. “This is a surprise to no one. But the origin of that cursed orb is irrelevant for now. None of it matters if we don’t find shelter, and soon. The Inquisition will not survive for long in this wilderness.”

“That is the immediate problem,” Solas agreed. “And it offers a solution that may secure your place in their hearts.” He turned away slightly. “You saved them at Haven. Perhaps you can again.”

Fenris frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Solas looked at him once more. His expression was calm and serene, and not for the first time, Fenris was struck with an odd and uncomfortable sense of anachronism, as though Solas was far more world-weary than he had any right to be.

“Scout to the north,” Solas said softly. “Be their guide.” He lifted his chin and looked to the north, and Fenris looked as well. Through the inky darkness of the night, the northern mountains rose into the sky.

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it,” Solas said. “A place where the Inquisition can build and grow.”

Fenris frowned. He didn’t bother to ask how Solas knew this; he already knew the answer would be the Fade. 

“All right. What place is this?” he said, slightly bad-temperedly.

Solas looked at him. There was an odd sort of benevolence in his eyes and a confusing degree of sadness in his smile, and before Fenris could ask what was wrong with him, he looked away to the north once more. 

Solas took a deep breath, and the whispered name left his lips on a puff of frosty air.

“Skyhold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else almost cry every time during the journey to Skyhold? I’m a shameless Solasmancer, so maybe it’s just me… 
> 
> Religious discussions, anyone?? They’re bloody tricky in the world of Thedas. I hope I’m doing them okay. I wrote [this other piece that looks at Fenris’s religious beliefs,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/38838815) if anyone is interested in that.
> 
> And now that we’re almost at Skyhold… this fic has hit 100k words. I am so sorry. I had no idea this dumb fic was going to be this long, honestly. I hope you guys are here for the long haul… [laughing and crying hysterically in Tevene]
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your humble service if you want to swing on by! xo


	14. Inquisitor

Dawn broke bright and cold across the Haven refugee camp. Before the sun had fully risen above the crests of the eastern mountain range, the people of the Inquisition were packed up and heading north.

The trek was slow but steady; the refugees had not been able to take more than the bare-bones of supplies in the rushed evacuation from Haven, and most of it was being carried by Dennet’s horses, a handful of pack mules, and even a few brontos. Even so, their pace was determined by the most injured of their party and the supplies that could not be easily carried. By Solas’s estimation, they would arrive at Skyhold in three days’ time. 

Hawke spent a good chunk of the journey mingling with the various people who made up the Inquisition. Fenris watched with his usual mixture of fondness and bemusement as she managed to make friends with nearly everyone, from the most mage-fearing Templars to the most Templar-hating mages. By the end of their second day of travel, thanks to her signature combination of jokes and flirtation and flattery, nearly everyone had stopped calling her ‘the Champion’ or ‘that damned heathen apostate’, and were all simply calling her ‘Hawke’ – or, in some cases, ‘the Herald’s right hand,’ much to Hawke’s amusement.

Fenris, on the other hand, found himself sticking to the company of their more familiar companions. At one point during the journey, he found himself walking with Cullen.

Cullen shot him a sideways look. “Are you well? No lasting injuries, I trust?”

Fenris shook his head. “I am fine, thank you.” Hawke’s healing had taken care of his most pressing injuries, and one of Fiona’s people had stopped by after his talk with Solas last night and healed any lingering frostbite on his feet, fingers and ears. 

Cullen nodded. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said briskly. “It will raise our people’s morale to see you looking well. More than the promise of a new home already has, that is.” He glanced at Fenris. “You and Solas are certain there is a… an entire castle in these mountains that no one knows about?”

There was a healthy dose of skepticism in Cullen’s tone, and Fenris couldn’t blame him; he had his own doubts, as well. But given the alternative – remaining in these frozen mountains with no shelter at all – Fenris was loathe to exacerbate Cullen’s doubts. And in all fairness, aside from the demon issue, Solas’s counsel thus far had not strayed far from Fenris’s own opinions. There was no reason for Solas to purposely lead them astray. 

“You said yourself that we can’t be sure exactly where we are,” Fenris said. “It stands to reason that this Skyhold is just as unknown as our own whereabouts right now.” He shrugged. “Time will tell. But in the meantime, we might as well move forward.” 

Cullen nodded slowly. “This is true.” They continued their snowy trek in silence for a moment.

Fenris glanced sideways at Cullen as they trudged through the snow. During the course of the journey, with little else to think about aside from getting from one place to the next, something odd had occurred to Fenris: he didn’t know Cullen very well, considering how long they’d known each other.

Fenris had always had a healthy degree of respect for Cullen’s work at the Kirkwall Circle. Cullen’s feelings toward mages had always echoed Fenris’s own in a rather uncanny way; neither of them had had any fondness for mages when they’d first met many years ago. But Fenris’s feelings had admittedly mellowed during his years with Hawke, and from what he’d seen over the past couple of months, Cullen’s stance on mages seemed to have softened in recent years as well.

He shrugged to himself. If Hawke could float around getting to know the entire Inquisition, perhaps Fenris could make an effort to get to know this one former Templar with whom he’d already been acquainted for years.

“And you?” he said to Cullen. “Are you well, in the wake of Haven’s… collapse?”

Cullen shot him a quick look of surprise, then scoffed softly. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. We survived. Many of us, at least. The rest…” He shook his head, and his face hardened as he spoke again. “We were caught unaware,” he said sternly. “That will not happen again. I will be more prepared in the future.” 

“Good,” Fenris said. “And your preparations will be more tailored now, I expect, since we know what we are dealing with.” He shook his head. “Red lyrium-infected Templars…” He shot Cullen a disgruntled glance. “Did you ever think–”

“–that the Templars would go this way, after what happened in Kirkwall?” Cullen said. His tone was steely now. “No. It disgusts me. And Samson…” He shook his head again, then scowled at Fenris. “You remember him from Kirkwall. You remember how… how self-serving he was. I suppose that’s how he got his current position of power with this blasted Elder One.”

Fenris grunted in agreement. “The lure of power is enough to turn many a man’s head. Especially if the addictive forces of lyrium are involved.”

Cullen sighed, and some of his ire seemed to leave him as he ran a gloved hand through his hair. “That is true. And all the more reason…” He trailed off and shook his head, then glanced at Fenris once more. “I should thank you, Fenris. For the work you have done with us. You and Hawke both.” He twisted his lips ruefully. “I wouldn’t have imagined I’d find myself thanking Hawke for much of anything.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Cullen’s eyes widened. “I intend no disrespect,” he said hurriedly. “But you know she and I – well, she – my work in Kirkwall was not particularly to her liking. And her, er, constant, um, mockery…” 

“I understand,” Fenris interrupted. He forced himself not to smile at Cullen’s discomfiture. “Hawke does not mince her words with those she sees to be wrong. But she is a fine woman,” he said, in a firmer tone. “And a fine mage. It is to your credit that you never forced the issue of her freedom as an apostate.” 

Cullen sighed. “I… am coming to see her more positive qualities now. Particularly in light of her support of you.” He sighed again. “Her degree of optimism is… surprising, given everything that has happened. Not just in Haven, but…” He trailed off and glanced curiously at Fenris. “After Kirkwall. The past few years must have been difficult for you both.” 

“They were,” Fenris said shortly. 

Cullen nodded, and they fell silent again until the only sound between them was their breathing and the crunching of snow beneath their boots – a pair of which Fenris had finally, with much disgruntlement, agreed to wear. 

“I was not my finest self during the attack on Haven,” Cullen said suddenly.

Fenris looked at him. He was scowling quite severely indeed. 

“I was angry, and…” He blew out a sharp breath. “I was afraid,” he said bluntly. “Afraid that everything we’d done might come to nothing, and afraid for… for all of us. But cooler heads must prevail if we are to survive what comes. My attitude was unworthy of the Inquisition’s Commander.” To Fenris’s surprise, Cullen then bowed slightly to him. “I will do better in the future.”

“That is… good,” Fenris said, feeling slightly nonplussed. Cullen didn’t need to apologize to _him._ But, he realized, if Cullen too was now of the opinion that Fenris was really the chosen champion of Andraste…

He sighed internally. Then Cullen spoke again. “I would… If you will, please pass on my thanks to Hawke. Her reminder about… about surviving Kirkwall was unwelcome, but necessary. And her encouragement during the evacuation was… well. Please thank her for me.”

Fenris shook his head. “Perhaps you should thank her yourself. We are all working together now.” 

Cullen glanced at him, then pursed his lips and sighed. “All right, I… I will.” 

There was a brief pause before Cullen spoke again. “She will likely tease me,” he muttered. 

Fenris smirked. “That should come as no surprise. What surprises _me_ is that you are not accustomed to it yet.”

Cullen grunted, and Fenris smiled a bit more broadly. A few minutes later, Hawke bounced over to Fenris’s side. “Gentlemen,” she said cheerfully. “Are we enjoying ourselves yet? I think I’ve seen every possible shape of snowflake over the past few days. Now all I need to do is learn to draw them all. Then I can keep a journal for when it gets too hot in the summer and I need to remember what it feels like to be freezing my tits off. Or when I need a way to put myself to sleep from utter boredom.”

Cullen’s cheeks promptly flushed at Hawke’s reference to her breasts. Fenris smirked, then slowed down slightly. “You and Cullen carry on,” he said. “I will check on Toby.”

Hawke raised one quizzical eyebrow, and Fenris darted a pointed look at Cullen before looking her in the eyes once more. 

Her eyebrows rose higher still, but she shrugged. “All right. Don’t arrange any games of wicked grace without me,” she said. She drifted closer to Cullen and cheerfully slipped her hand through his elbow. “So, Cullen! When is the last time you made a snowman?”

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile, then slowed his pace a bit more as he looked around for Toby. The mabari had been intermittently jumping and rolling through the snow during the trek, and his antics had been helpful at keeping the Inquisition’s children distracted and entertained while their parents toiled through the snow. But Fenris hadn’t seen Toby for most of the day. 

He frowned slightly as he looked around; Toby was the only mabari with the Inquisition, so he shouldn’t be difficult to spot. Where…? 

“Hey, how’s it going?” The Iron Bull crunched through the snow toward him, with Cremisius Aclassi at his side. “You lose something?”

Aclassi huffed wryly. “Sure hope you didn’t. Snow like this could bury a giant.” He elbowed Bull. “And I mean a _real_ giant, not a wishful thinker like you, Chief.”

Bull chuckled. “Insubordination, huh? Maybe I’ll bury _you_. Put Grim in charge instead.” He pulled his second-in-command into a friendly headlock, and Fenris watched with a mixture of caution and amusement as the two of them scuffled. 

A minute later, Aclassi was brushing the snow off of his armour as Bull strolled at Fenris’s side with a smirk. Fenris nodded politely to them. “Bull. Aclassi,” he greeted.

“It’s all right, Herald, you can call me Krem,” Aclassi said. “The rest of the boys do.”

“Ah,” Fenris said. He scratched the back of his neck; it still felt oddly informal to call other Tevinters by their first names. “All right. Krem.” He shrugged. “I would prefer if you call me Fenris. I don’t… I am not fond of titles.”

Krem nodded affably. “You got it.”

Fenris tilted his head curiously at the mercenaries. “Have either of you seen the mabari? Toby?”

Bull shook his head, but Krem nodded. “I have,” he supplied. “He was with that quiet fellow. You know, the one with the hat.”

Fenris and Bull looked at him. “Who?” Fenris said.

“You know the one,” Krem said. He made a vague hand gesture. “He, er… he had a hat, and… Strange. I don’t really remember what he looks like. But your mabari seemed fond of ‘im.” 

Fenris wrinkled his nose. Now that Krem had mentioned it, he thought he might have seen Toby playing snowball-fetch with someone this morning as he and Hawke had been rolling up their bedrolls. But he couldn’t quite recall…

The fleeting thought slipped away, and Fenris shook his head dismissively. Then Bull spoke up. “So, that dragon. How big was it, really? It looked gigantic, but me and the boys were so far away…”

He sounded wistful. Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I have only seen one other high dragon up close,” he said. “But Corypheus’s cursed beast was far larger than the one I fought.” He pursed his lips. “It is fortunate in the end that we did not get the chance to fight it. I would not admit this to Cassandra, but… I have my doubts as to whether we would have survived.”

“I’m coming along the next time you face it,” Bull said immediately. “You’ve got a good team here, Boss, but if there are dragons to be hunted, well…” He cracked his massive knuckles. “I’m your man.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. Then he shot Bull a sideways look. “I am not the boss of the Inquisition, you know. There is no need to call me that.” 

“Huh,” Bull said. He scratched his chin. “Could’ve fooled me. Who do you think is the leader, then?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. Bull’s tone was just a little too bland for his liking. “Cassandra is the leader,” he said. “She put Divine Justinia’s writ into action. This organization would not exist if she had not forced it down the throats of those who wished to bury their heads in the sand.” 

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Cassandra is a Seeker. From what I gather, that’s a bit like a Ben-Hassrath,” he said. “She’s a good hunter and a great fighter, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Too busy searching for answers.”

Fenris eyed Bull appraisingly. “You don’t think that finding answers is a worthwhile goal for the Inquisition?”

“Sure,” Bull said. “But finding answers is only one part. _You_ know that. That’s why we’re moving instead of sitting on our asses and wondering what it all means.” 

Fenris was quiet for a moment as he, Bull, and Krem crunched through the snow. Then Fenris glanced at Bull again. “There was no choice but to move on,” he said. “There will be no answers if we don’t survive.” 

“Precisely,” Bull said. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the qunari captain. “Speak plainly, Bull. What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that my people don’t pick leaders from the strongest or the smartest, or even the most talented,” Bull said patiently. “We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions and to live with the consequences.”

 _And you think I am more fit to make such decisions than Cassandra?_ he thought. Nothing he’d done so far was anything Cassandra couldn’t have done. Well, perhaps Cassandra would have gone to investigate the Templars instead of sticking around in Redcliffe. That may have been the better choice in the end, given the Templar attack on Haven. Ah, but then that time-travel magic would have run amok… 

He mentally shook off the doubts. It was as he had said to Hawke; the decisions were made, and it would serve no purpose to dwell on the past. 

Bull still seemed to be waiting for a response, but Fenris needed to think about what he’d said. So he took a page from Hawke’s book and deflected the issue with a joke. “What makes you think I am not the smartest or most talented?” he quipped.

Bull smirked. “Ah. There _is_ a sense of humour under that frown. Figured you must have something in common with the Hawke.”

Krem chuckled. “I think she just goes by ‘Hawke’ and not ‘ _the_ Hawke’, Chief. Only one person ‘round here who’s that big-headed.”

Bull huffed in amusement. “A missed opportunity for her, then.”

Fenris shot Bull a quizzical look. “Why do you go by _the_ Iron Bull?”

Bull shrugged. “I like the article. It makes it sound like I’m not even a person, just a mindless weapon. An implement of destruction.” He smirked in satisfaction. “That _really_ works for me.”

Fenris eyed him shrewdly. The answer was fitting for a qunari, certainly: the idea of being a mindless drone who unquestioningly fulfilled the role was that was given to them. But the answer didn’t seem fitting for Bull. The mercenary commander continued to be the strangest and most unconventional qunari Fenris had ever met – and _unconventional_ , for a qunari, was unheard of. 

Fenris adopted a bland tone himself before replying. “That is interesting,” he said. “Your name evokes a rather individual feel, in my opinion. _The_ Iron Bull, as in the only one. Independent and singular.” He tilted his head. “You chose the name yourself?” 

Bull shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I did.” 

“Hmm,” Fenris said. “Strange, for a qunari.”

“Not for a Ben-Hassrath agent,” Bull said. His tone was very light and friendly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, _bas_.”

“About being a mindless implement of destruction? I know more than you can imagine,” Fenris said quietly. He lifted his chin and looked Bull directly in his one remaining eye. “You fought Tevinters on Seheron. But you would only have given their slaves a different brand of slavery. The Qun is the same story, packaged with a different binding. A more palatable binding at first glance, but it is slavery nonetheless.”

Bull chuckled – a deep, low rumble of a laugh. “What say we save this, uh, discussion for the training grounds, eh Boss? Or the next tavern we stumble across? Not exactly a strolling-through-the-snow kind of chat.” 

Then Krem spoke up. “Wouldn’t exactly call this a stroll in the snow, Chief.”

Bull grinned at his second-in-command. “Ah, Kremmy, are your feetsies getting damp? You should try some fancy Vint blood magic to dry ‘em off.”

Fenris twisted his lips wryly as Krem and Bull continued to poke playful jabs at each other. He slowly drifted away from them until he found himself walking alongside Solas. 

They nodded curtly to each other and walked in silence for some time. Then Solas spoke in a low voice. “An ambitious undertaking, to try and de-program an agent of the Ben-Hassrath.”

Fenris huffed. “I was not trying to de-program him,” he muttered. “I was simply… discussing the… finer points of the Qun.” 

Solas nodded once. “A worthwhile undertaking nevertheless.” 

Fenris didn’t reply, and they walked in silence for some time. Then Fenris shrugged; he might as well ask Solas, since he had asked the others. “Have you seen Toby?”

“Your mabari companion?” Solas said mildly. “I have. He has made a friend in Cole.”

Fenris frowned slightly. _Cole…_ The name sounded familiar, but… had he met anyone named Cole? He wasn’t sure that he had.

He shook his head, feeling slightly nonplussed. “I do not recall if I have met anyone by that name.” 

Solas smiled slightly. “Of course. I… Do not be concerned, Fenris,” he said. “Toby is in good hands.” 

Fenris scowled. “What are you not telling me?” he demanded. “If any harm comes to the mabari…”

At that moment, Fenris heard the signature loud sound of panting, and Toby’s big front paws landed in the small of his back, sending him stumbling forward. 

Fenris regained his balance as Toby leapt around in front of him. “Ah, good. There you are,” he said. 

Toby barked happily, and Fenris rubbed the hound’s jowls and cast Solas another slightly suspicious glance. “We should arrive at Skyhold tonight?”

Solas nodded. “By my estimation, that is correct.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He patted Toby’s rump. “Come, my friend,” he muttered. “Stay close to me.” 

Toby woofed in agreement, and Fenris picked up his pace to walk with Hawke once more. Just a few more hours, and they would have shelter – as well as a whole new bevy of problems to deal with, if the castle had been abandoned for as long as Solas claimed. 

In the meantime, Fenris would use these last few hours of travel to think: about the Iron Bull and his chosen name, and faceless strangers named Cole… and about hard decisions, and the consequences thereof.

***********************

Their arrival at Skyhold was extremely timely. After three long days of travel, the Inquisition’s healers — both magical and mundane — were close to exhaustion from fending off the various insidious perils of the cold, and everyone was becoming dehydrated. There were just enough rations for two more scant meals, and Fenris dearly hoped that Leliana was correct in saying her scouts in the field would arrive at Skyhold tomorrow with further provisions.

In contrast to the brutal reality they had just gone through, setting foot in Skyhold seemed almost like something from a wonderful dream. The abandoned castle was vast, and the outer walls were in very good condition. 

Suspiciously good condition, in fact. 

Fenris stood at the main gate and watched in silence as the people of the Inquisition filed across the drawbridge and into the castle’s main courtyard. The courtyard itself was strangely warm, boasting an early springtime temperature that contrasted sharply with the frigid mountain climate. It even had trees in leaf and grass on the ground – unkempt grass that reached Fenris’s knee, but grass nonetheless. 

He raised an eyebrow at Solas, who was standing at his side with his hands folded behind his back. “This is not an ordinary castle,” Fenris said, bluntly but quietly. 

Solas bowed his head in agreement. “This castle is imbued with ancient elvhen magic. Can you feel it?”

Fenris frowned. “Why would _I_ be able to feel it?” he said. He didn’t need to feel the magic to know it was there. There was no other explanation for the unnatural condition of the courtyard.

“You are descended from a people who had magic flowing through their veins,” Solas explained. “Sometimes that magic is more tangible to us than to others.” He tilted his head toward the castle. “Place your hand upon the stones. Perhaps you will sense some of the protection that lies within these walls.”

Fenris pursed his lips. He was of half a mind to behave like Sera and to simply walk away from Solas; he was not in the mood for some kind of vague mystical lesson about magic and the Fade. 

But Solas’s counsel had led them to this place of safety, and it would appear churlish to refuse an innocuous suggestion for no good reason… 

Fenris sighed, then bad-temperedly joined Solas beside the castle wall and pressed his right palm to the castle stones. He gave Solas a flat look. “Well?” he said archly. 

Solas shot him a brief chiding glance, then looked up toward the top of the towering outer walls. “Skyhold seems a fitting name for such a fortress, does it not? A castle on the highest peak of the northern Frostbacks: reaching, as it were, towards the sky. But the whispers of old memories carry a thousand names upon their breath.” He looked at Fenris once more. “In my explorations in the Fade, another name seemed to hover close to this place. An elvhen name, one that precedes the common tongue.”

“And what name is that?” Fenris asked. 

“ _Tarasyl'an te'las_ ,” Solas replied. “It means, ‘the place where the sky was held back.’” 

Fenris looked at him. His gaze was on the sky once more. 

Fenris lifted his chin and looked up toward the battlements as well. The occasional raven circled overhead; bringing news for Leliana, no doubt. From here on the ground, the awestruck and relieved murmuring of Haven’s refugees filled his ears. And beneath his palm, so faint that he was probably imagining it, was the merest hint of a hum of warmth. 

Solas spoke again in a quiet voice. “Given your efforts against the Breach, and our campaign against a madman who seeks to assault the Black City in the Fade, I can only hope that the Inquisition's new stronghold lives up to its name.”

Fenris exhaled slowly. The heat beneath his palm was gentle and ever-so-slightly vibrant, almost like a strange echo of Hawke’s barrier.

He opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from the wall. “There is a lot to be done here,” he told Solas. “Work with Fiona and Hawke and get the mages settled. Then have the mages assist in whatever capacity Leliana and Josephine see fit.”

Solas met his eyes for a long moment, and Fenris couldn’t decide if the unease he felt was his own making, or some genuine lingering tension between himself and Solas. 

Then Solas bowed his head politely. “I will find them now,” he said, and he joined the rest of the refugees as they entered the castle grounds.

The next two days were hectic and difficult. All able-bodied people were called upon either to tend to the injured and dying, or to help clear enough of the inner keep to make it livable, and Fenris ensured that he was no exception. Manual labour was in short supply following the flight from Haven, and Fenris was oddly pleased to engage in such simple tasks as lifting and carrying. In a secret corner of his mind – a corner that he’d tried to ignore for more than a month – a resigned sort of realization was starting to bloom, and Fenris was under the distinct impression that the next few days would be the last where he could enjoy any kind of simplicity. So he wholeheartedly devoted himself to whatever menial tasks were required.

He found himself working alongside Blackwall for much of the time. They hauled fallen beams and broken bricks out of blocked-off doorways and helped to move the injured and the deceased as needed by the healers, and in the evenings, Fenris accompanied Blackwall out to the stables to chop firewood. Sera trailed around with them for much of the time, and Fenris was frankly uncertain how her cheeky presence was helping. He could admit, however, that her ongoing back-and-forth with Blackwall was entertaining enough to distract Fenris from the blisters that bloomed on his palms as he split logs alongside the burly Warden. 

Hawke, meanwhile, was taking her assigned role of joint leader of the free mages quite seriously. She was so busy coordinating and coaching the mages with Fiona and Solas that Fenris rarely saw her during the first few days at Skyhold. When they curled up on their makeshift pallet in the semi-cleared rotunda at night, there was no privacy to be had: bedrolls were everywhere in the Great Hall until the living quarters of Skyhold could be cleared. The lack of privacy was a moot point, however; he and Hawke were so tired at the end of each day that they barely had time to do more than curl into the warmth of each other’s bodies before falling into a deep and heavy sleep. 

Unfortunately, as was always the case when Fenris was growing accustomed to a new place, his nightmares grew more tenacious over the first few nights at Skyhold. On the third night, when he was being tortured by a particularly ghastly image of red lyrium pouring from Hawke’s gaping mouth, he wrenched his eyes open to find her awake. 

“Hey,” she whispered.

Through the darkness, Fenris stared at her soft and serious expression. Unable and unwilling to speak, he stroked her smooth unblemished cheek with trembling knuckles. 

She carefully shuffled closer to him beneath the covers and tucked her thigh between his legs. Her fingers were warm as they gently rubbed his earlobe. “Is there anything I can do?” she murmured.

He shook his head. She knew there wasn’t anything to be done; the only thing that helped was time. Fenris needed time to get used to this castle, and the nightmares would eventually abate. 

He slid his hand soothingly along her side. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. 

She nodded, and Fenris watched as her eyelids drifted shut. “Let me know if you want some warm milk,” she mumbled. “I’ll warm it up myself. I won’t even burn it. Just for you.” 

Fenris smirked and gently squeezed her waist. “Go to sleep, Hawke.”

She grinned briefly at the squeeze of his hand. She settled her head snugly on her folded arm, and a minute later, she was asleep once more. 

Fenris watched as the slumber swept her smile away, leaving a peaceful expression in its place. If only he could keep find a way to keep this look of peace on her face indefinitely. _Kaffas_ , if only he could find that kind of peace for himself. 

He lay awake for some time, both wishing for sleep and worrying about what kinds of horrors his sleeping mind would inflict on him next. But to his own surprise, his eyelids gradually grew heavy, and his vision faded to a deep and peaceful black.

When he woke the next morning, Fenris couldn’t recall any further bad dreams. 

********************

The next few days saw a slow but steady influx of travellers arriving at Skyhold. It seemed that Leliana’s ravens had borne their messages not only to her scouts, but to a number of Josephine’s contacts throughout Orlais and Ferelden both. The people who came were laden with supplies: weapons and food and clothing, as well as a range of skills from cooking to alchemy to combat. And with their arrival came an enormous boost in morale to Haven’s refugees. 

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region,” Cassandra told Fenris one day, when she was taking a very rare break from her conferences with Leliana and Josephine. “Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.”

Fenris automatically closed his left fist. He knew now that there was little point in fighting the image he was accruing as the Herald of Andraste, but it still made him antsy to think that people were coming to Skyhold for his sake alone. 

He shrugged. “They seem to be bringing skills and supplies with them, at least. We should be grateful for that.”

Cassandra nodded. “There is much to be thankful for,” she agreed. Then she met his eye. “We are truly blessed, Fenris.”

He nodded again, with yet another pang of resignation. He recognized the look in Cassandra’s eye – the respect and the reverence. Deep down, he knew what that look meant. And he wasn’t quite ready to face it just yet. 

The influx of new Inquisition recruits continued, and Skyhold continued to be restored to its former glory. With the increasing number of able-bodied helpers, Fenris and Blackwall found themselves with more free time, and so they began training together: something they’d spoken of doing during their travels, but until now had not had the time to do.

It was extremely satisfying, to say the least. Something about Blackwall’s fighting style reminded Fenris strongly of Aveline, and the contrast in their strengths made them good foils for each other. All the same, Fenris found himself besting Blackwall in more than half of their matches. 

At one point, when Blackwall was on his knees again with Fenris’s training blade flush to the back of his neck, Blackwall burst into laughter. “Maker’s balls, you’re a quick one,” he chuckled. “I’ll never understand how you heft that damned sword around so quickly, even though… well…” He trailed off and cleared his throat awkwardly. 

Fenris smirked, then lowered his sword and stepped back. “Even though I am a lanky elf?” he deadpanned.

Blackwall rose to his feet and held his hands up apologetically. “I didn’t want to say it.” 

Fenris shrugged and folded his arms. “When you underestimate your enemy, you give them a weapon against you,” he advised. “It is good that we are practicing this. I get the sense that your skills have been singularly honed with other humans.”

“You’re not wrong,” Blackwall admitted. “Well. Humans and darkspawn, of course.”

“What’s this I see? Having a training session, and you didn’t invite me?” Bull’s deep, cheerful voice boomed out, and the soldiers who had been observing Fenris and Blackwall parted to allow him passage. 

He placed his hands on his thick waist and grinned at them. “All right. Who’s going to fight me next?” 

“Oooh,” Sera crooned from her perch on the fence of the training ring. She threw a peanut shell at Fenris’s head. “I vote for Fenny. Small one against the big one, that’s the best kind of fight.”

Fenris shot her an exasperated look, and she pulled a silly face at him. Then he looked up at Bull and shrugged. “Fine. I will spar with you.”

“Excellent,” Bull said with relish. He selected a blunted axe from the rack of weapons that sat just outside the training ring, then twirled it expertly before settling into a ready position. “Come on then. Fight me like a Vint, why don’t you?”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at him. “That is how you want me to fight?”

Bull jerked his head to the side. “It’s what would be more educational for them. We are up against a bunch of Vints, after all.”

Fenris looked in the direction Bull had indicated, then recoiled. There was a veritable crowd of people watching them: mostly Cullen’s soldiers, but a good sprinkling of Skyhold’s residents and labourers and mages as well. 

Fenris frowned. The training grounds were admittedly a public place, and he knew a handful of Cullen’s men had been watching him and Blackwall as they sparred. But he hadn’t really intended to train like this in front of such a large audience. 

“Come on, then!” Sera called out. “Get yer fight on already, you lugs!” 

Fenris _tsk_ ed in annoyance, then adjusted his grip on his training blade. “All right,” he said to Bull. “You want Tevinter style, that’s what I will give you.”

Bull grinned slowly at him. “Good,” he growled. A moment later, he and Fenris sprang into action. 

Like Fenris, Bull was an opponent whose abilities were easy to miscalculate: the qunari was huge, and as a consequence, one might assume he would be rather slow. 

This was not the case. Bull moved in close with swift, strong swings and pommel strikes, and the rapid onslaught from Bull’s not-inconsiderable mass would have finished off any inexperienced warrior. 

Fenris, however, was no inexperienced warrior. He darted away from Bull’s strikes, shamelessly using his lyrium marks to phase even more swiftly from Bull’s reach, and with a minimum of parries and dodges, he managed to swing his blade low in a direct strike at Bull’s right thigh.

They froze in a clear tableau with Bull’s axe half-raised and Fenris’s sword at his leg. To Fenris’s discomfiture, a wave of impressed murmuring and applause rose from the assembled crowd. 

Bull let out a loud, rumbling laugh and lowered his training axe. “ _Vashedan_ ,” he grumbled. “You tricky little bastard. You really went Vint on me with that magic shit.”

Fenris rose to his full height and raised his eyebrows. “You asked for Tevinter fighting. You know better than most that they will use magic at any opportunity, whether it constitutes dirty tactics or not.” 

“Hey, don’t tell me,” Bull said. He waved his enormous hand at the crowd. “Tell it to them.”

Fenris glanced at the assembled crowd. They were watching him avidly.

He tugged his ear uncomfortably, then focused his attention on Cullen’s men. “Never make the mistake of thinking a Tevinter warrior boasts only mundane skills,” he said. “Even a soporati warrior will be protected or enhanced by a mage’s work. Whether by a battle mage on the field, or by some work of magic that they wear on their person – an amulet, or an enchantment…” 

“Or a bunch of weird tattoos, like you,” Sera put in. 

Fenris glanced at her briefly, then decided to ignore her comment. “Always assume that Tevinter soldiers have magical help,” he told the soldiers. “It is their greatest strength, but also their greatest weakness, as they tend to rely on it far too much.”

The soldiers murmured assent, and Fenris took a small step back, feeling rather awkward now. He glanced at Blackwall and jerked his chin at Bull. “Your turn, now,” he said to Blackwall. “Time to fight someone bigger than yourself.”

Blackwall chuckled, then lifted his training sword and shield. “What do you say, Bull? Are you ready for another round?” 

Bull laughed and lifted his axe. “Bring it on, little man.”

The soldiers turned their full attention to Bull and Blackwall, and Fenris slipped out of the training ring with no small amount of relief and slunk away from the crowd. But as he made his way toward the mage tower, thinking vaguely of trying to draw Hawke away for a break, someone called his name. 

“Hey, Fenris.”

Fenris’s eyes widened in disbelief. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, not since they’d left Kirkwall on the night of the Chantry explosion.

He turned around. “Carver?”

Hawke’s younger brother approached him with an uncertain smile, and Fenris studied him with unmasked surprise. Carver’s face was more angular than Fenris remembered, and his standard slight frown was more pensive than petulant. 

“Hi,” Carver said. He adjusted the large travelling pack on his back. “I, er. I heard what was going on. Well, I mean, everybody in Kirkwall did, it’s rather hard to miss. And, um…” He hunched his shoulders defensively, and Fenris had an odd moment of temporal vertigo as he remembered the perpetually pouting young man that Carver used to be. 

Then Carver straightened up and lifted his chin. “I’ve come to join the Inquisition,” he said firmly. “If you need Templars, that is. But… I know you’ve got the free mages here. Maybe they’ll be angry if I–”

Fenris shook his head. “It is good to see you,” he said, and he held out his hand to shake. “Of course you are welcome to join the Inquisition. Cullen will be pleased to see you, I expect.”

Carver exhaled in apparent relief, then smiled and grasped Fenris’s hand in greeting. “I heard Cullen was here. That’s part of the reason I decided to come.” He swiftly scanned Fenris’s face. “It’s… been a while,” he said, slightly awkwardly. “You look the same. Aside from, you know…” His eyes darted to Fenris’s glowing left hand. 

Fenris released Carver’s hand and folded his arms, effectively hiding his palm from sight. “ _You_ look stronger,” he said truthfully. 

Carver’s posture straightened a bit more at the praise, and Fenris suppressed a smile. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Rynne will be beside herself when she sees you. I admit that I’m surprised you’re here.” He gestured for Carver to follow him.

Carver huffed. “I know, I know. But… well, this is the place to be, right? I wasn’t really doing Templars duties in Kirkwall – I was just doing whatever Aveline needed. But I can actually be useful here, especially if there are Tevinter mages involved. And if you’re fighting against other Templars…” He frowned. “Someone should be around to remind people that Templars aren’t all bad.”

“An excellent point,” Fenris said.

Carver smiled. Then his expression became curious. “Where are you taking me?”

“The mage tower,” Fenris explained. “Rynne is one of the leaders of the rebel mages.”

“What?” Carver blurted. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Actually, of course she is. I shouldn’t be–”

Fenris held up a hand. “It was not her choice,” he said. “ _I_ made her one of their leaders. They will be more accountable with more than one leader. Mistakes they made in the past will not be repeated here.”

Carver grunted. “Huh. Well, you always were the voice of reason with her. You must know what you’re doing.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Carver’s waspish tone. Now he was remembering why spending time with Carver wasn’t always pleasant. 

“Hang on,” Carver said. “The mage tower, you said? The… the rebel mages are living in a tower? By their own choice?”

His tone was laced with disbelief, and Fenris couldn’t help himself; he chuckled. “Old habits are slow to die, I suppose,” he said. “But you should refrain from commenting on the irony when we get there, or your presence will be even more unwelcome.”

Carver snorted. But before they could reach the stairs to the battlements, Hawke’s voice rang out. “Carver?”

Fenris and Carver looked up. Hawke was already halfway down the stairs, and before Carver could respond, Hawke had slammed into him in a full-body hug that knocked him off-balance. 

“ _Carv!_ ” she squealed. “Oh Maker’s balls, Carv, what the fuck are you doing here? I can’t believe this – I can’t believe you’re actually here! Are you staying? Please tell me you’re staying, you should definitely stay. This had better not just be some little fucking fly-by vacation.” 

Carver awkwardly returned her hug. “Hi, Rynne,” he mumbled. 

She pulled away slightly and pinched her brother’s cheek. She looked happier than she had in weeks. “Is that all you have to say?” she demanded. “‘Hi, Rynne. I haven’t seen you in two years, but I’ll just stop by Skyhold all casual like it’s no big deal’?” 

She pinched his other cheek, and Carver wrinkled his nose. “Don’t pinch,” he muttered. “It’s… I’m happy to see you.”

“You’d better be,” she threatened. “Now that you’re here, you’re going to come adventuring with us like the good old days, and we won’t take no for an answer.” She looked at Fenris pleadingly. “Right, Fenris?”

“I don’t see why not,” Fenris said. 

Hawke grinned at him, then hugged Carver again. “It’s so good to see you,” she said softly. “I really missed you, you big muscly fool.”

Carver returned her hug with more enthusiasm this time. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “It’s been a while.” He cleared his throat. 

Fenris watched the siblings’ reunion with a hint of wistfulness. Hawke had rarely spoken of Carver in the past two years, but Fenris knew how much she’d missed her ornery younger brother. For reasons that Fenris would never entirely understand, the intangible ties of family seemed to trump the difficulties of their rather rocky relationship, and for Hawke’s sake if nothing else, he was pleased that Carver was here. 

Hawke hastily wiped her eyes as she pulled away from Carver, and Fenris gave her a quizzical look. “We were on our way to find you. Were you coming to speak to me?”

“No, actually,” Hawke said. “A messenger came up to the tower to fetch us. I think Cassandra and the others want to make an announcement.”

Fenris’s stomach jolted, and he looked around. It did indeed seem as though the entire Inquisition was assembling in the main courtyard. 

Just then, Cassandra approached him through the crowd. “Fenris,” she said, with a polite nod. “Will you come with me?”

His sense of foreboding deepened. _Venhedis fasta vass,_ he thought. He darted a quick pleading look at Hawke, and she quickly kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be here,” she assured him. 

Fenris sighed, then caught up to Cassandra. Her expression was grave as they approached the grand staircase that rose into the Great Hall. “This past week has been difficult, but not as difficult as it could have been,” she said. “Our numbers have grown at an astonishing speed. And the castle… it is stronger and more defensible than anything we could have imagined. We have the walls and the numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.”

She came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “We now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you,” she said. 

Fenris nodded. “This mark. Or anchor, as Corypheus called it. But it is no longer his to take.”

Cassandra bowed her head slightly. “The anchor has power, but that is not why you’re still standing here.” She started up the stairs, and Fenris accompanied her with a rising sense of dread. 

Leliana was standing at the top of the stairs. In her hands she held a shining longsword, and on the crosspiece was an elaborate sigil: the sigil that Fenris now recognized as the mark of the Inquisition. 

“Your decisions let us heal the sky,” Cassandra told him. “Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it: all of us.” She gestured to the assembly of their people, clustered at the bottom of the stairs. 

Fenris’s stomach was writhing with discomfort. He couldn’t look at the assembled crowd below; it was too much. He forced himself to focus on Cassandra’s face instead.

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” she announced. “The one who has already been leading it: you.”

He leaned toward her slightly. “Cassandra,” he said very quietly, “are you certain you wish to do this? I am an elf from Tevinter. You could not ask for a more unpalatable leader. The forces you wish to ally with… they will not look kindly on us. They will not look kindly on _me_. You are far more acceptable to them than I.”

She shook her head. “It does not matter what is acceptable,” she said. “It matters what is right and just. You are the leader they deserve, Fenris.” She glanced at the crowd once more. “They will follow you. Being an elf from Tevinter, and a former slave, shows them how far you’ve risen. How it must have been by Andraste’s hand.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Hawke had warned him about this weeks ago. He had known for weeks that this would be coming. And still he couldn’t help but try one last time to put it off. 

He met Cassandra’s eyes once more. “You know how I feel about that. I cannot claim to be Andraste’s chosen.”

“I know you can’t,” Cassandra said gently. “But _I_ can. And so will they.” She took a small step closer to him. “I know what this means to me,” she said. “What it means to you, and how you lead us, is for you alone to determine.”

He sighed again, more heavily this time. Then he finally turned to face Leliana.

A tiny, enigmatic smile curled her lips as he lifted the sword from her hands. The eyes of the crowd were horribly heavy on the back of his neck, and with a fresh surge of discomfort, he forced himself to face them. 

They were all staring at him, and their faces were bright and hopeful and full of expectation. He had to say _something_ ; some kind of speech. That was the point of all this ridiculous fanfare. 

But Fenris was no good at this. Addressing a crowd, putting people at ease, garnering the loyalty of a disparate group of people: this kind of thing was Hawke’s purview. It was something she had always done with ease. 

But Fenris wasn’t Hawke. He didn’t have her casual sense of humour. He had his lyrium marks and his greatsword, and now he had this cursed mark on his hand. What could he possibly draw on that would bolster the mass of people that were staring at him now?

His anxious eyes darted over the crowd. Then, for some reason, his gaze found Blackwall’s face. The Warden was grinning from ear to ear and looking so damned proud. 

Fenris took a deep breath. He studied the Inquisition longsword for a moment, then lifted his chin to face the crowd.

“When an enemy underestimates you, they give you a weapon,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “They give you their assumptions. They tell you what they think you cannot do. The wisest thing you can do is use those assumptions against them.” 

Blackwall’s smile widened even further. Beside him, Bull nodded approvingly. Fenris exhaled, and his wandering gaze found Hawke’s face in the crowd. 

She was smiling too. Her copper eyes were warm and brilliant and shining, and as he met her gaze, she blew him a kiss. 

He nervously licked his lips, then lifted his chin again. “When Corypheus attacked Haven, he underestimated us. We ran, for we had no choice,” he told the crowd. “But we will run no more. We will turn and face this tiger, and we will show him the edge of our blades. Our unbowed spines and our defiance: these are our weapons, and we will hold them high until Corypheus is dead.”

There was a ripple of agreement and a wave of nodding from the crowd. Fenris exhaled and stepped back, then looked askance at Cassandra. 

She was smiling at him. She nodded approvingly, then raised her voice and called out to Cullen, who was standing below with the crowd. “Commander! Will our people follow?”

Cullen nodded, then turned to face the crowd. “Inquisition! Will you follow?” he yelled. 

A wave of cheering rose from the assembly, and the hairs at the back of Fenris’s neck rose along with it. Then Cullen drew his sword and raised it high. “Will you fight? Will we triumph?” he bellowed. 

The crowd cheered again, more loudly than before, and a trail of goosebumps rippled uncomfortably across Fenris’s arms. 

Then Cullen turned toward him with a broad smile. “Your leader! Your Herald!” he roared. He pointed his sword at Fenris. “Your Inquisitor!”

The crowd exploded into a cacophony of cheering and screaming and applause, and Fenris dropped his gaze as the noise crashed over him. The approval, the applause, the fucking _expectations_ : they were like an unstoppable wave, filling his ears and his lungs and his heavy gut, and Fenris forced himself to endure them until Cassandra spoke again. 

“Congratulations, Inquisitor,” she said quietly. 

He shot her a chiding look. “Don’t you dare. No titles, Cassandra.”

A quick, brilliant smile lifted her lips. Then she bowed respectfully. “As you wish. Congratulations, Fenris. May Andraste guide your steps in this.”

He bowed his head in return. “Thank you,” he said. Then, at long last, he made his way down the stairs. 

Hawke was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Her expression was warm and sympathetic, and all at once, Fenris was utterly exhausted. 

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Hawke…” 

She stroked his arm. “Come on,” she said softly. “Come with me.” She twined her fingers with his and led him away from the noisy and celebratory crowd. 

He squeezed her hand as he followed her, grateful for the grounding warmth of her fingers as she pulled him toward the still-unkempt garden space, then up a narrow set of stairs to a particularly run-down section of the battlements that the stonemasons hadn’t gotten around to repairing yet. The only sound up here was the whistling of the cold mountain wind, and Fenris and took a few gulps of frigid air. 

He closed his eyes as he drew in a cold, bracing breath. Then Hawke cradled his cheek in her palm. “You were amazing,” she told him quietly. “That speech was the best thing you could have said to them. If it was me, I would have made some fool joke about Coryphy-tits or something.”

Fenris inhaled deeply, then exhaled once more. “You have been spending too much time with Sera,” he told her.

Hawke snickered. “That’s probably true,” she said. Then her expression sobered, and she took a step closer to him. “Seriously though. How are you feeling?”

He gazed into her lovely amber eyes. His heart was pounding still from nerves, and it felt almost as though his fingertips and his face were tingling with the unreality of it all. 

He swallowed hard. “Hawke, why did you turn this down? When Cassandra and Leliana offered to make you the Inquisitor. Why did you say no?”

She recoiled slightly, then laughed. “You can’t be serious. You know there was no chance I was going to agree to leading this bunch.”

“Why?” Fenris insisted. “I… you know I would not have agreed to this if I had a choice. You had the choice to refuse it, and I am relieved that you did,” he said. “But _why_ did you say no? You could have filled this role just as well as I.”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d be terrible for this job.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Job? Am I being paid for this, then?” he joked weakly. 

She chuckled softly. “You know what I mean. You’re perfect for this. You’re going to do great.” 

“How can you think that?” he demanded. “I have never done anything like this before. Leading so many people… Hawke, I am a _shadow_ ,” he insisted. “I remain in the shadows. That is where I’m comfortable. I strike hard and fast, and then I subside. I… this, the public nature of all of this… I do not want this.”

She pressed herself against him and squeezed his arms. “That’s why you’re perfect for it,” she said. 

“That makes no sense,” he snapped. “By that logic, _you_ could–”

“No,” she interrupted. “It’s different. Being the so-called Champion of Kirkwall was just… I did odd little tasks and killed the odd dragon and the odd qunari. It was just a bunch of little random things that accidentally turned into something huge. But this?” She waved a dismissive hand toward the main courtyard. “Leading an entire quasi-political organization with so many fucking people? I couldn’t do something like this. I’m a disorganized, chaotic mess. _You_ are good at this.”

“You are being completely unfair to yourself,” Fenris argued. “You defended Kirkwall as best you could. Granted, you helped the cursed apostates too often, but–” 

She poked him in the belly. “The best I could? Shall we review a few key examples of what ‘my best’ entailed? Let’s see: one dead Viscount and son, a blood mage party that resulted in Carver getting abducted, a dead reanimated mother, and – oh, right, I almost forgot! – a Chantry explosion arranged by one of my best friends.” She gave him a knowing look. “My form of leadership is _not_ what the Inquisition needs.”

Fenris frowned. Her tone was wry and her expression jocular, but Fenris knew how she really felt. Her true feelings about everything that had happened and everything she’d lost was painted across her left shoulder and ribs in twisting black ink – ink that she unconsciously scratched whenever things started to go wrong for the people she loved.

He cradled her neck in his glowing left palm. “Hawke…”

She shook her head. “You are the perfect choice for the Inquisitor, Fenris,” she said firmly. “You make decisions when they need to be made, and you’re not a pompous power-hungry prick. You’re right in that sweet spot between ‘angry boss’ and ‘stern but benevolent leader’. Honestly, you’re a great choice.” 

Her coppery eyes were warm and full of conviction. Her faith in him should make him feel better, but it somehow only made him feel more lonely.

He released her neck and looked out over the battlements. “So this is what you want, then,” he said. “You… you want me to be the Inquisitor. To be stuck in this role…” 

She reached up and turned his face toward her. When Fenris met her eyes, they were stern and sad. “I would never have let this happen to you if I had a choice,” she said in a hard voice. “If we’re playing the wishful-thinking game, you and I would be in a little house somewhere on a Rivaini beach enjoying our sunburns while Toby rolls around in a bunch of dead fish. But we can’t have that life. Not yet, at least.” 

He huffed in disbelief. “You think we will have that someday? A beach house in Rivain?”

She shrugged and stroked his neck. “Maybe. You don’t know that we won’t. But we have to survive this first. And _you_ being the leader of this merry mob of misfits is the first step to that.” 

He took another deep breath of cold air, and Hawke traced his jaw with her thumb. “One thing at a time,” she whispered. “We kill Corypheus first. Then we get rid of that thing on your hand. Then we retire early on a beach in Rivain. You can lead us there one step at a time.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “I know _I’ll_ enjoy following you.” 

Her smile was suggestive and her tone was playful, but Fenris was not amused. He swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to hers. “We follow each other,” he said fiercely. “We walk into this together, do you understand?”

“Of course,” she replied. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Wherever you go, I’ll be there.” 

Her words were a promise as they left her raspberry-red lips. Her embrace was warm and tight, and Fenris finally started to relax. She tilted her head entreatingly, and he met her lips with a soft and careful kiss. 

There was no turning back now; the full weight of the Inquisition was firmly on Fenris’s shoulders. But with Hawke standing by his side, the load wouldn’t be quite so difficult to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking one more chapter at Skyhold, then FINALLY off to Crestwood to meet the fantastically mustachioed Stroud. Are you guys getting sick of All The Conversations yet? [insert nervous laughter while slamming head on keyboard]
> 
> Some of Solas’s dialogue here is taken from [this codex entry about Skyhold.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_On_Skyhold) Just in case anyone wanted to review it ~~and have their feelings murdered just like mine are whenever I think about stupid Solas whom I love more than is strictly reasonable~~.
> 
> I’ve mentioned Rynne’s tattoo before in this fic, but in case anyone wants to know more detail about the symbolism of it, you can check out [this oneshot.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645181)
> 
> As always, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	15. Cole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, I wrote this little [interview with Fenris the Inquisitor](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184631047008/oc-interview-fenris-the-inquisitor) on Tumblr for a tag meme game!

Fenris stepped into the Great Hall and quietly closed Josephine’s office door behind him. He was feeling rather disgruntled about the meeting he’d just had with the advisors. 

Josephine and Leliana had mentioned that Empress Celene was holding a masquerade in a few weeks’ time. They were both quite insistent that the Inquisition’s interference – and Fenris’s attendance at the masquerade – were necessary to prevent Celene’s assassination and to stop Orlais from collapsing like it had in the dark future. Fenris was not particularly keen to get involved in Orlesian politics, and he was absolutely _not_ keen to attend a formal event filled with human nobles who would sneer down their noses at his pointed ears. But Josephine and Leliana’s rationale could not be denied, and he’d finally – albeit reluctantly – agreed to Josephine’s suggestion to get the Inquisition formally invited to the ball.

He was still having difficulty adjusting to the idea that _he_ was considered the best person to represent the Inquisition. During the entire discussion, it was on the tip of his tongue to argue that a Tevinter elf would hardly be a good spokesperson to represent the Inquisition, but he had to keep reminding himself that that reasoning was no longer valid. To the advisors and the rest of Skyhold’s people, he was the Inquisitor first and foremost. Anything else he was – or used to be – was a moot point now. 

To make matters even more aggravating, Josephine had pulled him aside after Leliana and Cullen had returned to the war room. “Inquisitor, if I may have a word?” 

“It’s just Fenris, Josephine,” he said, politely but firmly. 

She smiled and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Fenris. There is one relatively simple way to gain the favour and alliance of any number of noble houses, both in Ferelden and Orlais.” She tilted her head. “The Inquisition can host a formal celebration of our own.”

Fenris frowned. “... a formal celebration? Here?”

“Yes,” Josephine said. “Skyhold is becoming more hospitable with every passing day. Ser Gatsi has informed me that the major repairs will be complete in a few weeks’ time, and – well, I must admit that Leliana and I have been arranging for the castle’s decor…”

He gave her an odd look. “This castle just became livable, and you’ve been thinking about decorating it?” Then her words sunk in, and he blinked in confusion. “Wait. _Leliana_ has been arranging for decor?” 

“She has, yes,” the Antivan advisor confirmed. Her expression was as pleasant and calm as always, but her bronze cheeks were becoming slightly flushed. “The Inquisition will soon be receiving guests from all over Thedas. It is important that they feel both safe and comfortable in our new home.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “All right then,” he grumbled. “You and Leliana are arranging for decor. What bearing does this have on building alliances?” 

Josephine smiled. “Well, as I mentioned, a formal celebration will help demonstrate to the rest of Thedas that we are an organization worth working with. An organization with the power to make real change.” 

Fenris folded his arms. “A flagrant display of power and wealth. _That_ is your suggestion?”

Josephine gave him a wheedling look. “Think of it as extending a generous hand in friendship.”

He raised one skeptical eyebrow, and Josephine bowed her head once more. “I know you do not entirely approve of this approach, Inquis– ah, Fenris,” she said. “Unfortunately, this is how the game is played. If we wish to curry favour with those in power, we must speak to them in a language they understand.”

He pursed his lips. This was another reason he hadn’t wanted this position. Playing these political games, pretending he had anything but disdain for those who flaunted their wealth so blatantly… All of it rubbed him the wrong way. 

But if he was to dismiss Josephine’s advice without hearing her out, he would be no better than the egotistical, know-it-all nobles that he disdained. 

He sighed and tried to control his annoyance. Josephine was only trying to be her usual helpful self, after all. “ _If_ we were to host a formal celebration, what reason would you suggest?” he asked, only slightly sullenly. 

Josephine beamed at him and put her tablet on her desk. “Well,” she said in a suspiciously coy tone, “it’s come to my attention that you and Lady Rynne are not married.” 

Fenris stared dumbly at her for a moment. That was _not_ what he’d expected her to say. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, but a wedding would be the perfect occasion!” Josephine enthused. “The Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall, joining in holy matrimony…” 

To Fenris’s mild alarm, her expression was growing wistful, like that of a young girl reading _Swords and Shields_. “Hawke doesn’t go by that title anymore,” he protested.

Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “Her title does not matter,” she said brightly. “What matters is that you are our Inquisitor, and Lady Rynne is well-loved by everyone here. To see the two of you being wed before all of our people, and any number of respected guests–?” 

“No,” Fenris said, more loudly than before. 

Josephine drew back slightly. Fenris took a slow breath through his nose, then lowered his voice. “My – Hawke and I – we are not figureheads to be put on display and gawked at by nobles,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I understand that you want to garner favour and resources for the Inquisition. But you will have to think of something else.”

Josephine bowed her head in resignation. “As you wish.” She picked up her tablet and made a little note with her plume, then tilted her head curiously. “If I may ask… why have you and Lady Rynne not married?”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “Have _you_ ever tried to find an official to marry you while on the run from the Chantry itself?” he drawled.

To his surprise, she giggled. “If the romance novels my sister Yvette reads are true, then I would have thought it was quite simple,” she said. 

Fenris smirked. “I’ve watched Varric writing part of a romance novel. They are not reliable sources of information, I assure you.” 

Josephine giggled again, then smiled at him. “Inquisitor – Fenris. If ever you and Lady Rynne decide you would like to be married, please do not be afraid to ask for my assistance. I would be… delighted, frankly, to arrange such a happy occasion.”

He gave her a chiding look. “And to invite a few nobles houses to the event.”

“Only with your permission,” Josephine said delicately. She smiled at him as she returned to her chair. “Please do consider it. A good day to you.”

“You as well,” he said, and he left her office. 

As he made his way through the Great Hall, he brooded over the meeting he’d just had. His relationship with Hawke was _not_ some entertaining plot to be picked over by prying eyes, despite what Varric’s not-so-sly references in his _Tale of the Champion_ seemed to imply. As though being forced to go to an Orlesian ball wasn’t bad enough...

Just then, Toby lolloped over to him with a happy bark. Fenris smiled faintly at the mabari, who was wagging his tail so hard that his whole body was shaking. 

“Toby,” he greeted. “What thrilling activities have occupied you today?” 

Toby barked again, then trotted away in a manner that implied that Fenris should follow. Fenris trailed after him, then frowned curiously as Toby came to a stop beside a young man in patched clothes and a large hat. 

Fenris peered at the boy. He looked to be around twenty years of age, with untidy flaxen hair and eerily pale blue eyes…

Suddenly Fenris remembered. “You’re Cole,” he said. “You warned us about the Red Templars.” 

The boy looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “And you’re the Inquisitor.” His gaze was vague as he studied Fenris’s face. “The weight of everything is on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight… You are theirs. It must be very hard.” 

Fenris frowned. That was an oddly intimate thing to say to a complete stranger. And yet, Cole wasn’t wrong. He was… uncannily accurate, in fact. 

Fenris swallowed hard. Then he narrowed his eyes as he remembered something else odd: Toby’s uncharacteristically fearful reaction to this boy when they’d first met. 

He frowned at Toby. “I thought you didn’t like this fellow,” he said. 

Toby tilted his head, then sat next to Cole and leaned against his leg. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Changed your mind so quickly, hmm?” He folded his arms and gave Cole an appraising look. 

Cole blinked at him in a vacant sort of way. Fenris frowned, feeling slightly at a loss for words. “You helped Roderick to lead the refugees out of Haven,” he finally said.

“Yes,” Cole said. “He was sorry before he died.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Sorry for what?”

Cole blinked again. “Blood everywhere. Monsters, madness, dying, we’re all dying. The Herald stands against it, and heads turn.” He lifted his eyes toward the newly-cleaned stained glass windows. “Voices in the Chantry. Years since I’ve sung the song and felt it flowing through me, but this is real. So long since I felt it, falling, flying: faith. And I fought him.” Cole looked at Fenris once more. “Maker forgive me. I hope I did enough.”

A rash of goosebumps rippled down Fenris’s spine, and he stared at Cole for a nonplussed moment. Why was Cole talking in that strange manner, as though Roderick was speaking through his mouth?

He folded his arms more tightly across his chest. “Roderick said that to you?” 

“Yes,” Cole said. “No. He was in my head. He wanted you to hear it. He would be happy that you did.” 

Fenris studied him cautiously. _In my head? What does that mean?_ he wondered. Maybe this boy was addled? Or… perhaps he was infected with red lyrium. He had spent time around Corypheus’s red Templars, after all. 

_This doesn’t sound like red lyrium ramblings, though,_ Fenris thought. Red lyrium brought out the worst part of a person and manifested it, like Bartrand’s greed or Meredith’s paranoia. Or in Hawke’s case… 

Fenris shivered slightly. Then Cole interrupted his thoughts. “It wasn’t real,” he said.

Fenris looked at him. “What?”

“Red rivers running down her face. She asked to die, but that wasn’t _her_. Red, wrong, you were ripped away from her, but it wasn’t real.” Cole smiled slightly. “You made it not real. You helped.” 

For a long, paralyzing second, Fenris stopped breathing. How…? How did this stranger know about his nightmares? 

He took a step closer to Cole. “Did Dorian tell you this?” he hissed. Dorian was the only one who had seen Fenris’s distress when they were stuck together in that dark future. He was the only one who could have told Cole about what they’d seen, how Hawke’s infected mind had made her beg for death…

“Dorian?” Cole said. “No. Sharp and shining like a gem, cutting when he needs to, but not unkind.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Dorian understands hurts. He hurts too, in his way. He wouldn’t tell.”

Fenris scowled. “Then how–?”

“Hello, handsome!” Hawke bounced over, and Fenris tensed in surprise as she squeezed his arm. She smiled at Cole. “Hello, Cole. Perfect timing – Cassandra and Solas want to talk to both of you.” 

Fenris stepped away from Cole. “About what?”

Hawke pulled a little face as she led him out of the Great Hall toward the courtyard. “Uhh… better if you hear it directly. You know Solas and his explanations. I’m listening to him, and I’m understanding everything and I’m all on board, and then he’s all, ‘and the complete opposite can also be true.’ And suddenly I’m wondering about the meaning of life and the universe and everything when all I asked is if he wanted a sandwich…” 

Fenris grunted. He could hear the clack of Toby’s nails on the stone as he and Cole followed them down to the base of the stairs, where Cassandra and Solas were engaged in some sort of debate. 

‘... but this violates everything we know about the Fade!” Cassandra exclaimed as they drew near. 

Solas tilted his head in agreement. “So it does,” he said mildly. 

_An auspicious start,_ Fenris thought waspishly. He folded his arms. “What’s the problem?” he asked. 

“Fenris,” Cassandra greeted. She nodded to him and Hawke, but her face was creased in a frown. “Solas and I were discussing Cole’s… unusual abilities. I wondered if he was perhaps a mage.”

Fenris frowned. “Unusual abilities?”

“He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him,” Solas said. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Those are… he can do that on purpose?” He glanced suspiciously at Cole. He was sitting on the ground nearby and petting a very happy-looking Toby.

“Yes,” Solas said. “From my conversations with him, I understand that his presence has been objected to in the past, and thus he is making himself… inconspicuous, as it were, so as not to offend.” He shot a quick pointed look at Cassandra. “In any case, these are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.”

Fenris whipped around and stared at him. “A spirit?” he said flatly. 

“Yes,” Solas said. His expression was absolutely neutral. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Then Cassandra mirrored his thoughts. “A demon, more likely,” she said.

“If you prefer,” Solas said. “Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

Hawke grimaced slightly. “Told you you’d want to hear it for yourself,” she said quietly to Fenris.

Fenris shook his head slowly. It was making sense now. The odd things Cole said… the way he had spoken Roderick’s last words in the councillor’s own voice, and the way he knew what Fenris was thinking – his concerns about being the Inquisitor, and his fears about Hawke… 

He glared at Solas. “If he is making people forget him, that means he is changing their thoughts. Such manipulations are the purview of a demon.”

Hawke’s grimace deepened as Solas lifted his chin. “In fairness, Cole’s warning at Haven allowed you to escape and saved many lives,” Solas said.

“You dodge the issue,” Fenris accused. “He manipulates minds. He… I have witnessed it myself!”

Cassandra folded her arms as well. “You speak as though Cole’s intent is to help,” she said to Solas. “But we cannot know the true motivations of a demon.”

Solas frowned slightly. “If this is a terminological issue, then you should know his nature is not so easily defined.”

“Speak plainly, Solas,” Cassandra said bluntly. “What are we dealing with?”

Fenris turned to her. “Solas maintains that spirits and demons are two faces of the same coin,” he said flatly. “What you and I call a demon, he calls a corrupted spirit.” He gave Solas a hard look. “The issue is not _terminological_ , but an issue of whether this ‘Cole’ is corrupted or not.”

Solas nodded politely to Fenris. “That is part of the issue, yes.” He looked at Cassandra. “Demons, or ‘corrupted spirits’, normally enter this world by possession: by attaching themselves to something or someone in this world. In their true form, they look bizarre. Monstrous.”

“But Cole looks like a young man,” Cassandra said. Her frown became even more severe as she darted a look at Cole, who was now rubbing Toby’s exposed belly. “Is this possession?”

“No,” Solas said firmly. “He has wilfully manifested in human form without possessing anyone. From what I can tell, he predates the Breach. He has lived in this world for months – perhaps years. He looks like a young man. For all intents and purposes, he _is_ a young man.” He glanced over at Cole. “It is… remarkable,” he said softly. 

“How do you know he is a spirit in the form of a man and _not_ a man possessed by a spirit?” Fenris demanded. “How can you tell for certain?” 

Hawke awkwardly shifted her weight. “Well, _we_ know what a possessed man looks like,” she said. 

He glanced askance at her, then wilted slightly. “Anders,” he grumbled.

“Exactly,” she said. “When Venjustice came out, it was pretty fucking obvious. And, well, Anders told us he was hosting a spirit. Or demon, or whatever you want to call it. He was able to tell us that he was a man with a spirit inside of him.” She smirked for a moment – at her own double entendre, Fenris was sure – then cleared her throat and shrugged. “I’ve spoken to Cole a few times. He seems… confused, I suppose, which makes sense if his home is the Fade. But he doesn’t sound like Anders did. There’s none of the ‘normal one second and crazy the next’ that Anders had going on.”

Fenris _harrumph_ ed quietly. Then he looked at her in surprise. “Wait. You remember speaking with Cole before? He didn’t force you to forget him?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t even know he was making people forget him until I heard Bull and Dorian talking about it. Dorian never forgot him, either.” 

Fenris frowned. Why had Cole tampered with his and Bull’s minds, but not Hawke’s or Dorian’s? 

Then Solas spoke once more. “Cole is unique, Fenris. He has achieved something that I was… not aware was possible. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. The mage’s tone was mild, and everything about his posture was deferential, but Fenris didn’t like the hint of command in Solas’s words. 

He looked at Hawke. “What do you think of this?”

She shrugged and pulled a little face. “Honestly, Cole seems pretty harmless to me. But it’s up to you.”

He pursed his lips, then glanced over at Cole… but Cole wasn’t there. 

He tutted. “Where in cursed Void is he?” 

Cassandra seemed equally displeased. “If we can’t remember him, he could be anywhere,” she complained. 

Hawke tapped Fenris’s arm and pointed. “He’s there, by the healers’ tents.” 

Fenris turned and spotted Cole’s large hat. “Come,” he said to Hawke, and he walked over to Cole with Hawke close behind. 

The healers’ tents in the courtyard now held only the most wounded patients: the ones whose condition was too fragile for them to be moved indoors. Cole was just standing there and looking at the wounded patients, and Fenris watched him with undisguised mistrust until he spoke.

“So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape Haven,” Cole said softly. He looked down at one particular soldier, whose blood-stained bandages covered him from chest to waist. The soldier’s pale and sweaty face was twisted in agony, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. 

Then Cole began to speak, and his words seemed to ring in time with the soldiers’ breaths. “Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain, everything burns. I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to… I’m dying, I am…”

The soldier exhaled one last time. “... dead,” Cole finished. 

The hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck were standing on end. “Stop that,” he hissed. “Stay out of their heads.”

Cole gave him a faintly quizzical look. “They’re in mine,” he said. Then he drifted over to a table bearing jugs of water and empty cups.

“Cracked brown paint, dry, scraping. Thirsty,” Cole murmured. He poured a cup of water, then knelt beside another soldier. “Here,” he said, and he held the cup to her lips.

She gulped thirstily from the cup, then gasped for breath. “Thank you,” she rasped.

Cole rose to his feet, then turned to Fenris. “It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “She won’t remember me.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Why do you force them to forget? If you truly mean to help, just show them that you’re there. This deception is unnecessary.” 

Hawke scratched her ear. “Didn’t Solas say that people rejected him when they found out he was a spirit?”

Cole blinked at her. “Yes. They want to forget. They would be troubled if they knew, like Rhys. I don’t want them to be troubled. It’s better this way. _I’m_ better.” 

Fenris scowled at him. “You’re tampering with their memories. You cannot do that.” 

“Oh,” Hawke said suddenly. 

Fenris looked at her, then frowned; she was looking at _him_ now, and her expression was oddly sympathetic. “What?” he demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She took a deep breath, then stepped closer to him. “I don’t think it’s… he’s not erasing their memories, Fenris, not really,” she said softly. “It seems like he’s just erasing himself and nothing else.”

“You don’t know that,” Fenris said fiercely. “You don’t know what he is capable of, and that is the entire problem. Erasing himself is just the start. What if he decides that erasing himself is not enough? Entire conversations, entire days – where would it end?” 

Hawke nibbled the inside of her cheek. “I suppose,” she said finally. She eyed Cole sadly for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay then. Are you going to send him away?” 

Fenris clenched his jaw. His instinct was indeed to send Cole away. But for some blasted reason, he couldn't help but recall the conversation he’d had with Dorian a few days ago, when Dorian had teased him about dismissing the things he didn’t understand. And then there was that big argument with Solas — the argument about this very issue, when Solas had accused him of scorning any being whose nature was unlike his own… 

Fenris gritted his teeth for a moment longer, then sighed bad-temperedly. “We’ll watch him for a day,” he announced. “Observe him. See what he does and how he does it. If he performs any sort of sinister act, I will kill him myself.” 

“Yes. That’s good,” Cole said.

Hawke and Fenris both looked at him in surprise. “You would… want Fenris to kill you?” Hawke said slowly.

Cole nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to help. If I start again, you or Cullen or Cassandra need to kill me.”

Hawke shrugged in a bemused sort of way. “Well, I suppose that’s a tidy enough solution,” she said, but Fenris narrowed his eyes. 

“What do you mean, ‘start again’?” he asked suspiciously. 

“When I was in the Spire, some of the mages wanted to die,” Cole said. “Too sad, too scared, too much. I didn’t know what I was; a ghost, I thought, fading in the Fade. I used the knife to set them free. When Rhys found out, he made me stop. Made me understand there were other ways to help. I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know that you were murdering innocent people?” Fenris demanded. 

“No, I knew,” Cole said calmly. “I just thought I had to. They were hurting, helpless, haunted. It was all I could do.” He stood a little straighter. “It was wrong. _I_ was wrong. If I start again, you need to kill me.” 

Fenris glared at him. “I will if I must,” he said threateningly. “Do not doubt that.”

Cole nodded. He seemed unaffected by Fenris’s ire. “Thank you,” he said. 

Fenris eyed him for a moment longer, but he said nothing more, and finally Fenris stepped back. “All right,” he said, and he jerked his chin at the castle at large. “Do as you had planned. We will follow.” 

“Yes,” Cole said, and he ambled away from the healers’ tents. 

Fenris and Hawke followed silently in Cole’s rambling path, and Fenris watched with some bemusement as Toby bounded over to prance around the demon boy. 

After about thirty seconds of walking in silence, Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Speak, Hawke. You are never silent for this long,” he drawled.

She snorted a little laugh at his bluntness. “I’m just surprised you would want to spend the day doing this. We’re going out to Crestwood tomorrow. I thought you’d be, you know, talking to the advisors or something.”

“I did speak to them. Just before you found me,” he said. He declined to tell her about Josephine’s formal celebration suggestion for now. Getting married was hardly a pressing item on the agenda, even if it had been at the back of his mind for the past couple of years.

“Ah,” Hawke said. She nodded knowledgeably and fell silent again.

Fenris gave her a flat look. He knew the real reason she was biting her tongue. “I am not incapable of changing my mind, you know,” he muttered. 

She looked at him. “Nobody is saying you are,” she said carefully.

Fenris huffed moodily, then lowered his voice. “Solas and Dorian think I am… inflexible.”

Hawke pulled him to a stop with a hand on his arm. “Solas and Dorian don’t know you,” she said. She was frowning slightly. “And since when do you care what other people think?”

“Since we joined this blasted organization and everyone is scrutinizing every move I make,” he hissed. “This is not like Kirkwall, Hawke. We _work_ with these people. They are allies, not friends. They’re not…” He broke off before he could inadvertently say something unkind.

Hawke finished his sentence anyway. “They’re not family,” she said, a little bit sadly.

He sighed and took a step closer to her. “No, they’re not,” he murmured. “In Kirkwall, it didn’t matter what Anders or Merrill thought of me. Their displeasure was inconsequential. But it is different here. These people we’re collecting… If they think my… predispositions will interfere with the Inquisition’s work–”

She cupped his cheek in her palm. “Fenris,” she said soothingly. “You are capable of change. If that’s what you’re really worried about, don’t be. I mean, look, here’s a perfect example: you hated me when we first met, and–”

“I never hated you,” he protested. 

She gave him a skeptical smirk, and he scowled. “I did not hate you,” he insisted. “I was… rightfully suspicious of you, given my circumstances.”

A slow smile lit her face. “Rightfully suspicious, hmm.” She leaned into his chest and curled her fingers against his abs. “And look at you now. You love me.” 

He snorted and gently squeezed her arm. “Yes, I do, for some unfathomable reason,” he grumbled.

Hawke chuckled and tilted her chin up, and Fenris smiled faintly at her. Then he jumped as Cole’s vague voice drifted over his shoulder. “You love her smile. You hold, hide, hovering in her lips: hope like a lighthouse, happiness like the fireplace at home.”

Fenris whipped around and stared at Cole, who was standing just behind his left shoulder. “What – how did you – stop that!” he snapped. 

Cole recoiled slightly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help,” he said.

Fenris glared at him. Hawke, meanwhile, was positively helpless with laughter. “Well well, this is going to be a fascinating day,” she wheezed.

Fenris hunched his shoulders defensively and scowled at Cole. He could feel his ears getting hot. “Will you be doing that all day?” he demanded. 

Cole twisted his fingers together. “Yes? Maybe. Sorry? It’s loud sometimes. When it’s all I can hear, I have to set it free, like birds from a cage.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose with displeasure. Then he _tsk_ ed loudly at Hawke. “Kindly pull yourself together,” he scolded. 

She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m– he’s just so cute,” she exclaimed. She slung an arm around Cole’s shoulders. “All right, little ghost, let’s pluck some more entertaining thoughts from people’s minds. Ooh, we should go follow Bull around for a while. He’s got an excellent imagination ripe for the plucking.”

“But I’m not a ghost,” Cole said as Hawke pulled him along. 

Fenris glowered at them, then turned his scowl to Toby, who was panting at his side. “Why do you both favour this demon so greatly?” he demanded.

Toby tilted his head, and Fenris sighed. “Never mind,” he said grumpily. “Let’s catch up to them before Hawke dares him to possess someone for the fun of it.”

And so Fenris and Hawke began trailing Cole around the castle. They initially followed him quite closely, as Fenris didn’t trust him to leave anyone’s minds untouched. But at one point, when they were standing on the battlements, Cole requested – in a roundabout, indirect sort of way – that they follow him at more of a distance. 

“Why?” Fenris said suspiciously.

Cole blinked benignly. “They see you,” he said.

Fenris folded his arms. “And?” 

“Too bright, too much, but in a good way. Hope, help, a hero. They can’t not see you. It’s not your fault, but I can’t help when they’re looking.”

“Oh, I suppose he’s right,” Hawke said. She looked at Fenris. “People are hardly going to think their normal thoughts when the Inquisitor is around.”

Fenris started to protest, but Cole addressed her before Fenris could speak. “It’s you, too,” Cole told her. “Bright and bursting like fireworks. They can’t help but look and hear. If they see you, they’ll see me, too.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke. For the first time today, he was slightly amused. “The demon is calling you an attention seeker,” he said. 

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “He already knows me so well.” She shrugged agreeably. “Well, I’m fine with following him at a distance if you are.”

Fenris studied Cole critically for a moment. Then he tutted. “Fine. We will follow at a distance. But if you attempt to shake us off completely, I will eject you from this castle on the spot,” he threatened. 

Cole gave him a vague sort of half-smile. “All right,” he said. Then he promptly disappeared. 

Fenris looked around in consternation, then rubbed his forehead. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum._ Hawke, this cursed demon–” 

“Fenris, look, it’s fine. He’s right there.” She pointed surreptitiously across the courtyard toward the tavern, where Cole was standing near the window. 

Fenris peered over the battlements. Cole was pulling something from his pocket – something round and dark purple in colour.

“Is that… a plum?” Hawke asked.

Fenris nodded wordlessly, and they watched as Cole sliced the plum into pieces, then left the pieces on the windowsill of the tavern and wandered away. 

Fenris was utterly perplexed. “What the–”

“Quick,” Hawke hissed. “We’d better hurry down if we want to catch up to him.”

They scrambled down to the main courtyard and pretended to be casual as they followed Cole’s dawdling path into Skyhold and down to the lower levels. They hid beside the stairs as Cole made his way to the kitchen, and a few minutes later, they watched as Cole emerged with a wheel of cheese, a small bushel of mint, and three loaves of bread – and smelling, for some reason, like burnt turnips. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Hawke whispered gleefully. 

“I don’t know, but I am not pleased about it,” Fenris groused, and they hurried up the stairs before the demon-boy could disappear again. 

They spent the rest of the day following Cole as he did all kinds of odd things around the castle: sprinkling crumbled cheese on the floor beside bowls of crushed mint, stealing daggers from soldiers’ belts and hoarding them in a random barrel, throwing the perfectly good loaves of bread onto the battlements. Fenris was initially of a mind to stop him; the wasting of the bread and cheese in particular was making him antsy. 

“Demons do not eat,” Fenris hissed to Hawke at one point. “He can’t understand what it is to starve. That’s why he is discarding all that food!”

“Hang on,” Hawke said slowly. Her eyes were wide, and she was looking at a pair of healers standing near the tavern windowsill where Cole had placed the sliced plums earlier that day. 

Fenris frowned, and he and Hawke edged closer to hear their conversation. “... the spiderwebs help stop the bleeding, and they prevent wounds from getting infected,” one healer was telling the other. “Gather as many as you can.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Strangest thing, though. I can’t recall where I heard that. I think I remember… a young man?”

Fenris looked at Hawke, then at the windowsill. The sliced plums were crawling with flies… many of whom had gotten trapped in the spiderwebs that now hung in silken webs from the corners of the window. 

He frowned slightly, then jumped when Cole appeared beside him. He ran an annoyed hand through his hair and studied Cole in silence for a moment.

“You put the plums there to attract flies for the spiders,” he said slowly. “So they would make webs for the healers?”

Cole nodded. “The plums are already dead. They don’t mind helping.” 

Fenris lifted his chin appraisingly, and Cole unblinkingly returned his gaze. Then Fenris shifted his weight and folded his arms. “Fine. The cheese and the mint, then. What was the point of those?”

“Mice like cheese,” Cole said. “The mint was for the cats.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Mint makes cats act strangely…” His gaze drifted to Hawke, who was smiling. 

“That cranky cook,” she said excitedly. “She was laughing earlier today about the mint-crazy cats dancing around, remember?” 

Fenris’s eyes widened, and he turned back to Cole. “You made the cats act foolish to cheer up the cook,” he said slowly. 

Cole nodded again. “Kitchen fires are hot, like when Haven burned,” he explained. “The old cook lies under rocks. His head is in pieces. She needs to make it all work, so nothing will burn again. But if she laughs, she forgets for a while.” 

“Hmm,” Fenris said. He studied Cole for another moment, then unfolded his arms and turned to Hawke. “Let’s find out what the rest of this demon’s antics have achieved.” 

She clapped her hands as she followed him toward the stables. “This is great,” she said with relish. “A spirit scavenger hunt? This is the best thing we’ve done since Sera sent us on that mad little hunt around Val Royeaux for the Red Jennies.” 

Fenris huffed, but with less annoyance than before. He still didn’t see why Cole couldn’t simply tell the healers about the spiderwebs. Or found some other way to cheer the cook up that didn’t involve wasting a week’s worth of cheese. Admittedly, Fenris was no expert at cheering people up, but surely Cole, or… or someone else could have thought of… something. Something that would also seem spontaneous and unplanned enough to make the cook laugh… 

He pursed his lips in annoyance. Once again, Solas’s angry words rang in his ears. _Do you scorn every being whose nature is unlike yours? Whose mode of being you do not understand?_

Perhaps Fenris was – albeit grudgingly – starting to understand what Solas meant. 

It was suppertime by the time Fenris and Hawke had figured out the reasoning behind all of the seemingly random things Cole had done. As the sun descended behind the west-facing mountains, Fenris and Hawke leaned against the battlements eating the leftover bread and cheese from Cole’s deeds that day, while Cole himself sat awkwardly on the ground in front of them.

Hawke sighed musically as she tucked another mouse-nibbled wedge of cheese into a bird-pecked hunk of bread. “Remind me again why you’re making me eat this possibly pestilence-ridden food?” she said to Fenris. 

He swallowed his own bite of cheese. “It is not that bad. I have eaten worse,” he said chidingly. “Don’t be wasteful. Think of the people starving in the Hinterlands. They would have given a kidney for your pestilence-ridden cheese.” 

Hawke huffed in amusement. “Well, if you’re going to make me sound so spoiled… _Bon appétit,_ as the Orlesians would say.” She took a big bite of bread and cheese, then winked at him while she chewed.

Fenris smirked and took another bite of his own impromptu cheese sandwich, and they ate in silence for a few minutes more. 

Then Fenris folded his arms and looked down at Cole. “So this is how you help. These convoluted sequences of tasks that eventually ease someone’s pain?”

Cole blinked benignly, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You also alter people’s thoughts. Do not deny it. You planted that idea about the spiderwebs in that healer’s mind. You gave her an idea she did not have before,” he accused. 

Cole tilted his head quizzically. “But it helped. She healed people. They hurt less now.”

“That is not the point,” Fenris argued. “You _listen_ to people’s thoughts. You take their… their private thoughts and speak them aloud. It’s…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Do you hear everything that everyone is thinking?”

“Maker’s balls, I hope not,” Hawke interjected. She grimaced at Fenris. “Can you imagine trying to get anything done if you heard everyone’s every thought?”

Cole shook his head. “I don’t hear everyone. They have to need me. Pain, fear, sadness, guilt, anger, hurt: things I can fix.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “But everyone feels those things sometimes.”

“Yes,” Cole said simply.

Fenris and Hawke studied him in silence for a moment. Then Fenris grunted. “You’re not going to stop poking into people’s heads, are you?”

Cole bowed his head. “I… don’t know. If I stop, I might stop being me. I might become the other way. You might have to kill me.” 

Fenris twisted his lips. This whole day had been… unnerving. Enlightening to some degree, but highly unnerving nonetheless. Fenris had been hoping to have this whole demon issue sorted by the end of the day, but it was turning out to be more complex than he’d hoped.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Then Hawke leaned against his side. “So? What do you think?” she murmured. 

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Then he finally lifted his face and gave Cole a stern look. “You can stay. For now,” he said forbiddingly. “When you accompany us on our journeys from Skyhold, you will be supervised by Solas and Cassandra at all times until I say otherwise.”

Hawke whistled softly. “Cassandra will love that, I’m sure.” 

“Her judgment mirrors mine,” Fenris reasoned. “If she deems Cole a problem, she will do what is necessary to keep us safe.” 

As usual, Cole seemed unbothered by Fenris’s blatant mistrust. “Thank you,” he said. “I want to help. I will go with you where the hurts hang heavy, and I’ll help you melt them down.” 

Fenris grunted. “That is… something, I suppose.” He closed his eyes once more and leaned his head back against the battlements. Would it be unseemly if he went to bed, despite the early hour? Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly tired; he’d been sleeping quite well the past couple of nights, in fact. But just yesterday, Josephine had assigned him and Hawke to the newly-renovated lord’s bedchamber, and although the huge bedroom made him feel uncomfortably entitled, he couldn’t deny how much he was enjoying the privacy. 

_I should get a full night’s sleep before we leave for Crestwood,_ he reasoned. The journey would be a solid five days by foot. But as soon as he thought about going to sleep, the usual jolt of anxiety poked at his belly; would he dream of that dark future again, or were the dreams finally gone for good? 

“It’s all right,” Cole said. “You’ll sleep soundly, safe from scarlet dreams.”

A chill of realization ran down Fenris’s spine. He opened his eyes and slowly straightened. “You,” he said. He swallowed hard. “You stopped the… you stopped them?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cole said, as though this was obvious.

Fenris recoiled, and Hawke frowned. “Wait. What’s happening?” she said. 

Fenris didn’t answer. He stared at Cole with mounting discomfort and anger. “I didn’t say you could do that,” he accused. “You – you went in my head without asking me!”

“Fenris, what’s going on?” Hawke asked sharply. 

“It’s… it is nothing,” Fenris blustered. “I…” He glared forbiddingly at Cole. He still hadn’t told Hawke the full extent of the horrors the dark future had presented to him. He didn’t want her to know that how thoroughly her usual shining, hopeful self had crumbled into a creature of despair. 

But it seemed that Cole didn’t understand the look on Fenris’s face; he was already speaking Fenris’s mind directly to Hawke. “He dreams of bloody walls, of red crystals twisting from the floor and your face and back. ‘Kill me, Varric,’ you begged, and you broke his heart.”

“What?” Hawke squeaked. 

Fenris took a step toward Cole. “Shut your mouth, demon,” he barked. 

Cole bowed his head and twisted his hands together. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted the dreams to die. ‘Please make them stop, make them go away,’ you said, so I did.”

“I did not say that,” Fenris yelled. “I _thought_ it. There is a difference!”

Hawke took hold of his arm. “Fenris, is this true?” she asked. “That’s what you saw in that dark future? You saw me asking Varric to kill me?” 

He took a deep breath and glared at Cole, who was still wringing his hands. “It was not your place to tell,” he snarled. “I didn’t – I don’t–” 

Hawke took his chin and turned his face to hers. “Fenris,” she said softly. “Is it true?”

He dragged in a deep, calming breath through his nose. “Yes,” he gritted. 

She inhaled slowly, then exhaled through her lips. “All right. What else happened?” she asked matter-of-factly.

He shook his head and tried to lean away, but Hawke cradled his neck in her hands. “Fenris, talk to me,” she begged softly. “That’s all I’ve wanted since Redcliffe. I just… I know there’s something you’re not telling me. Just talk to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. _Venhedis fasta vass,_ he thought. 

He opened his eyes and glared at her. “You gave up,” he said bluntly. “You thought I had died, and you stopped… fighting. You gave up. You wanted to die, you – you asked Varric to kill you, but he wouldn’t. And then you _did_ die, because–” he broke off and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You… a demon killed you. It… you sacrificed yourself to protect me from demons, and I… Hawke, I can’t–” 

She surged toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Fenris pressed his face against her sandalwood-scented neck. Her body was warm and solid in his arms, and he was probably squeezing her too tightly, but she wasn’t complaining, so he continued to clutch her so closely that he could feel every rise and fall of her ribs.

She turned her face toward him and pressed her mouth to his ear. “Hey. I promised you, remember?” she whispered. “I won’t ever give up, no matter what. I keep my promises to you, Fenris, all right?”

Fenris pressed his lips together hard, then buried his face in her shoulder and swallowed. Her fingertips carded gently through his hair, and he clenched his fingers tensely against her back as the fabric of her tunic grew damp beneath his cheek. 

Hawke held him tightly for many long minutes, and he held her tightly in kind. The evening breeze blew through the leaves in the courtyard, and the faint strains of a lute floated up from somewhere in castle grounds, and Fenris just breathed slowly until the tight, knotted ball of tension in his chest had completely melted into Hawke’s unfortunate tunic. 

He heaved a heavy sigh against her neck, and she pulled away slightly. Her thumbs carefully wiped his cheeks as she looked him in the eye. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that shitty future doesn’t happen,” she told him. “We protect each other, just like we’ve always done. No stupid sacrifices, and we both watch each other’s backs. All right?” 

He nodded and swallowed again. “All right,” he rasped. 

Hawke smiled. She kissed his cheek, then his cheekbone and his ear, and then she was hugging him again. Fenris hugged her back, but the desperation of their earlier embrace was gone. He felt looser now – loose and relaxed and… lightened somehow. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then Cole spoke in a quiet, tentative voice. “I didn’t steal the dreams,” he said. “I stopped them from stealing your sleep. Do you… want them back?”

Fenris inhaled slowly, then pulled away from Hawke to look Cole in the eye. “No,” he said quietly. “Keep them. Or… get rid of them. Or whatever it is that you spirits do with such poison.” 

Cole nodded. “All right.” 

Hawke’s arm was snug around his waist, and her smile was tender and warm. He gazed at her adoringly for a moment, then raised one quizzical eyebrow. “He hasn’t exposed any of your thoughts,” he murmured to her. “Why is that?”

She smiled. “Well, I’m an open book. He probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

Fenris raised one skeptical eyebrow, and she laughed. “What, do you want Cole to tell you one of my secret thoughts?” 

Fenris frowned. “No,” he said. The safety of this whole mind-reading business was iffy at best. 

But Hawke only laughed again and turned to Cole. “Go ahead, then,” she said. “Pick something juicy from my head for Fenris to hear. It’s only fair.”

“Hawke, there’s no need–” Fenris protested, but it was too late. Cole tilted his head and looked at Fenris with his eerie blue eyes. “I’m scared. Maker’s balls, I’m scared,” he said.

A shiver ran down Fenris’s spine as he recognized the cadence of Hawke’s words from Cole’s mouth. “Scared, so scared, red Templars and magic in his hand and undead darkspawn, everything is insane, nothing is what it should be. But he smiles, and I’m not scared anymore. Picture his smile, think of him laughing in that deep growly voice: I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m not scared anymore.” 

Fenris and Hawke were silent. Then Hawke looked up at him. “Well, now you know,” she whispered. “That’s what I do when I’m scared. I imagine you laughing.” She smiled slowly. “It’s my favourite sound.” 

Fenris stared into her brilliant eyes and forced himself to breathe. He didn’t want her to be scared. He didn’t want her to worry. But before he could think twice, before he quite knew he meant to do it, he was kissing her. 

He buried his hands in her short dark hair, and her arms twined tightly around his waist. As Fenris kissed her deeply and took the taste of her tongue in his mouth, all he could think was that her laugh was his favourite sound as well. 

Hawke nipped his lower lip, and Fenris exhaled heavily against her lush mouth. “Come,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside.” 

“Okay,” she breathed. 

“Oh,” Cole said. “You don’t need to follow me anymore?”

Hawke snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth, and Fenris scowled at Cole. “No,” he said firmly. “Go stay with Solas.”

“All right,” Cole said, and he disappeared. 

Fenris turned back to Hawke, and she grinned at him and twisted her fingers into his vest. “You’re blushing,” she teased. 

Fenris pinned her against the battlements, and she laughed. He admired her dancing coppery eyes and savoured her lilting laughing voice, then nuzzled her cheekbone. 

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered.

She stroked his neck and brushed his lips with hers. “Just keep laughing for me, Fenris,” she murmured. “That’s how we’ll get through this.”

He nodded, then exhaled tremulously as Hawke licked his lower lip, and then they were kissing once more, kissing ravenously on the battlements as the navy-blue blanket of night bled across the sky. 

A minute later, Hawke broke from his lips and stroked his chin with her thumb. “Let’s go to our room, shall we?” she suggested. “I have a few other favourite sounds that I’d like to hear you make.”

Her smile was wicked, and her eyes were bright and brazen with laughter. Fenris lovingly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Yes. Let's go,” he whispered. 

Later that night, when the stars dotted the sky outside the balcony and the rumpled sheets lay twisted around their bare bodies in the bed they shared, Fenris fell asleep. 

And when he dreamed that night, his dreams were sweet and bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note – I purposely left out the moment when the Inquisitor decides if Cole should kill the dying soldier or not, because I feel the canon writing of this scene is biased against the mercy killing: Cole approves if you tell him to let the soldier live, and there is no change in approval if you let him follow his own judgment and kill the soldier. Full disclosure that I'm a clinician in an acute care hospital, and in my opinion, a ‘mercy killing’ for a terminal patient (also known as physician-assisted suicide, or medical assistance in dying, in modern parlance) may be the most compassionate thing you can do if it is what the patient wants and nothing else can be done to save them. And I personally think that Cole would feel the same. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to discuss! xo


	16. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote [an interview with Rynne](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184805639864/i-did-this-already-for-fenris-the-inquisitor-and) for that Tumblr tag meme, to match [the one for Fenris](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184631047008/oc-interview-fenris-the-inquisitor) that I mentioned last week. If anyone is interested!

“Carv, all I’m saying is that you could have said something before you went off to join the Templars. You had ample time before I went into the Deep Roads–” 

“... and left me behind,” Carver muttered.

“To look after Mother!” Hawke said exasperatedly. “You and Gamlen! And you did a bang-up job, the two of you!” She widened her eyes. “How is Gamlen, by the way? Still drunk? Is cheap dwarven whisky still his favourite poison?”

Carver tutted loudly, and Hawke playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Carver, why didn’t you—”

“I didn’t have a crush on Merrill!” Carver snapped. “Just leave me alone, all right?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Carver’s slowly reddening neck. “Denial,” he remarked. “Admirable, given the object of your affections, but patently untrue.”

Carver shot him a resentful look. “Why are you taking her side?”

“I am not taking her side,” Fenris said. “She was a deluded witch who couldn’t see the danger of her ways.”

“I certainly hope it’s Merrill you’re talking about and not me,” Hawke said archly. Then she tilted her head. “Wait. That was a bitchy thing to say.”

Fenris pinched her waist chidingly. “Carver realized his error,” he told her. “Courting Merrill would have been a grave mistake. Literally, in all likelihood.”

“Right,” Carver said. “What Fenris said.” But his neck was steadily growing redder. 

Fenris frowned at him, then pursed his lips. “Really? You are still holding a torch for that—” 

Carver scrubbed a gauntleted hand through his hair, and Hawke cackled. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, but you and Merrill would have made such a cute couple…”

“Shut up!” Carver snapped.

“... and can you imagine the book Varric would have written about you two?” Hawke continued delightedly. “ _Swords and Staves!_ The cranky Templar and the sweet little blood mage! It would practically sell itself!”

Fenris sneered. “Absolutely not. Nothing could be farther from the romantic ideal.” 

“Y-yes – exactly!” Carver stammered. Then he frowned at Fenris. “Wait, are you insulting me?”

Hawke slung an arm around Carver’s neck before Fenris could reply. “All right, fine, not Merrill then. What about that other Templar friend of yours? You know, the little blonde one who was so convinced that Meredith was in the right? She was cute. A complete sycophant, but cute. Did you ever–” 

Carver sighed loudly. “Maker’s mercy, Rynne, I’m staying at Skyhold with the other Templars next time if you don’t piss off about this.” 

Hawke snickered, and Fenris smirked as Carver tried in vain to wriggle out of her grasp. Carver’s petulance and Hawke’s over-exuberant teasing were exactly the same as they’d always been, and there was something strangely comforting about the sameness of their interactions. 

And yet, nothing about the Hawke siblings’ lives was the same as it had been when Fenris had first met them ten years ago. They’d both changed in station and status and wealth, and they’d both lost so much: their entire families, save for each other and Gamlen. Sometimes Fenris wondered if Hawke and Carver continued to treat each other like foolish youth as a way to protect themselves from the undeniable difficulties that life had thrown their way.

Eventually they began gossiping about some old friends they used to know back in Lothering, so Fenris drifted back along the mud-ridden road to walk with Cassandra and Varric instead. They seemed to be discussing Varric’s writing process.

Cassandra was frowning at Varric. “You’re telling me _Hard in Hightown_ is also based on people and events from your own life?” she asked. “Do writers ever invent anything completely new, or is every story a reflection of something that has already happened?”

Varric scoffed and looked up at Fenris. “Ouch. She really aims to wound, doesn’t she?”

“Do not take offense, Varric,” Cassandra said. “I’m just surprised.”

Varric turned his gaze back to Cassandra. “Seeker, every good story is based on at least a seed of truth,” he said. “It’s how you shape that little piece of truth that makes the story compelling.”

“Hmm,” she said. “And I suppose that is also what makes you such a compelling liar.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Varric gave Cassandra a reproving look, then shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered, and he sped up a bit to walk with Carver and Hawke instead. 

Once he was out of earshot, Fenris glanced at Cassandra. “That was needlessly spiteful,” he said quietly. “His only lie was was disavow knowledge of our whereabouts. He gave you the truth about everything else.” 

“That is no small matter,” Cassandra snapped. “Leliana and I thought it was all connected. The Hero of Ferelden vanishing, then the Champion as well? But no. It was just Varric who kept Hawke from us!”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You know Hawke now. You know she would never have agreed to become your Inquisitor,” he said. “And... if _I_ am being truthful, had you tracked us down two years ago, I would sooner have killed you than allowed her to lead your cause.” 

Cassandra recoiled from him. “How could you–” 

“That was then,” he said firmly. “Things are… different now.” He sighed and absently rubbed his left palm. “Irrevocably different, in fact. For Hawke and I, and for you. And for Varric as well.” He gave her a frank look. “You should let him out of the doghouse. You think he is a liar, but he is extremely loyal.”

“To you and Hawke,” she retorted. 

“Yes,” Fenris said. “But… his loyalty is more than that now.” He trailed off as he thought about the conversations he’d had with Varric: Varric’s surprising Andrastian faith, and his belief in Fenris as a symbol of hope for all the people who were so scared and unsure in this time of war. 

“Varric is committed to the Inquisition,” Fenris told Cassandra. “Not just to Hawke and I.” In all honesty, the truth of this made Fenris feel a bit odd. Varric would always be his friend first and foremost. But to think that Varric also saw him as the Herald of Andraste, just like all the other believers in the Inquisition… It made Fenris feel a little bit sad for some strange reason. A little bit lonely, perhaps. 

Cassandra didn’t reply, and they walked together in silence on the path to Crestwood Village for a time. Then Cassandra sighed. “This isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. Not truly,” she said softly. “I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter.” She licked her lips. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

Fenris looked at her in confusion. “What?”

She looked sad now rather than angry. “If I’d just explained to Varric what was at stake,” she said. “Perhaps if I’d just made him understand… but I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I am such a fool.” 

“Cassandra,” Fenris said quietly. “You are singularly the most deserving person to be here. The Inquisition would not exist without you. We wouldn’t be here doing this right now if not for you.” 

“Is that a fact, or an accusation?” she said.

Fenris peered at her. The corners of her lips were quirked slightly in a tiny smile. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Fenris huffed in amusement. “Take your pick. Perhaps it is both.”

Her smile broadened slightly. Then she sighed again and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I want you to know I have no regrets,” she said. “You may not be the leader I expected us to have, but… in many ways, you are more than I expected. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.” 

He shook his head and ignored her praise. “Untrue,” he said firmly. “You anticipated this years ago. You have been pushing to be ahead of it all this time. You are strong and determined, and your faith does you proud.” He shrugged. “We are fortunate to have you.”

She looked away from him and rubbed her nose, and Fenris turned his gaze to the road ahead as they walked. Then Cassandra took a deep breath. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Fenris shook his head. “No titles, Cassandra. I mean it.”

She smiled at him, and they walked in a comfortable quiet for a while longer. Fenris idly watched as Varric said something to Carver that made Hawke burst out laughing. Carver elbowed Hawke, who shoved him playfully in the arm, and Carver’s strident tone drifted back to Fenris’s ears. “That was one time! And you set me up!” 

He smirked, and Cassandra shook her head. “They are a strange pair,” she commented. “Anthony and I never fought that way.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Never?”

“Well.” Cassandra smiled slightly. “Perhaps once or twice, but mostly not. We were very close when we were growing up. I was… it was devastating when he died.” 

Fenris nodded respectfully. Cassandra had mentioned that her brother had died when they were both very young, but she hadn’t told him further details. 

She gave him a curious look. “Do you have any family back in the Imperium?” 

Fenris hesitated, and Cassandra’s face melted into an expression of horror. “Oh. I am – my apologies, Fenris, I forgot. Varric did tell me about your – your memories, or that they were… er. I am very–”

Fenris waved her off. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It is not your fault. It would be a simple question for anyone else.” He nibbled the inside of his cheek as he considered whether to tell Cassandra about his sister. Varric had purposely omitted any mention of Varania in his _Tale of the Champion_ , and Fenris knew Varric would not have told Cassandra about her either, for which he was grateful. That element of Danarius’s arrival in Kirkwall remained a sore point for Fenris, and he was glad that there was at least one piece of information about his life that remained private. 

Finally he decided not to say anything. Not yet, at least. “No,” he said. “I have no family that I know of, aside from Hawke. And the mabari, of course.” He glanced over his shoulder at Toby, who was trotting contentedly beside Cole and Solas. 

Cassandra smiled and nodded a polite acknowledgement. Then Fenris glanced sideways at her. “Your brother,” he said carefully. “Do… do you wish to speak of what happened to him?”

Cassandra swallowed hard, then shook her head. “I… prefer not to speak of him right now,” she said softly. “Perhaps another time.” She shot him a quick smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Fenris nodded. “Of course.”

“Hey, Cass!” Hawke called.

Fenris and Cassandra looked up to find Hawke grinning while Carver scowled beside her. “What kind of metal makes for the sharpest blade edge?” Hawke asked. “Silverite or nevarrite?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows slightly. “Silverite, of course.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped, and Carver pointed victoriously at her. “I told you! See, you don’t know everything.” 

She grinned and smacked his arm. “I never said I did! But damn, I could have sworn I was right about that one.”

“Technically, it depends on the purpose of the blade,” Cassandra continued. “Silverite forms a keener edge. But nevarrite holds its edge for longer.” 

Hawke did a little hop. “So I was partly right, then! I think we should split that bet. You can give me five silver.”

Carver snorted. “That’s _not_ how betting works.” 

“It really isn’t,” Varric drawled. 

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s not how the rules worked in our wicked grace games at Fenris’s mansion.”

Varric’s smirk widened, and Carver wrinkled his nose at Fenris. “You made special rules for her?” he complained. “Seriously?”

Cassandra shot Fenris a playfully reproving look. “Nepotism and gambling, Fenris? Truly?”

“I disavow any knowledge of gambling occurring in my erstwhile house,” Fenris said smoothly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have important… Inquisitor… business to attend to.” He slowed down slightly so the others all drifted ahead of him, to a general wave of chuckling. 

Varric drew Cassandra into the conversation he was having with Carver and Hawke, and Fenris smiled slightly as he watched the four of them talking animatedly together. For some time he simply walked on his own and enjoyed the quiet susurrus of the conversations and the ever-present rain. 

Eventually, however, his attention was drawn to Solas and Cole’s cryptic conversation. During their trek to Crestwood, Solas had spent most of his time in Cole’s company. This could simply be because Fenris had essentially ordered Cole to stay by Solas’s side. But it did not escape Fenris’s notice that Solas seemed more at ease with Cole, and was more talkative with Cole, than with any other member of the Inquisition.

“They can only return to the Maker if they become real,” Cole was saying. “Why can't they be forgiven as they are?”

“People say they lack the ability to learn or grow,” Solas replied. “But the more contact you have with this world, the more ability you gain.”

“Why would they want to prove the Maker wrong? He's already far away,” Cole said. 

Fenris frowned. It always seemed as though he was understanding half of what they were saying, while completely missing the overarching point.

“It isn't about right and wrong. It's about attention, when you think you have been forgotten,” Solas said gently.

Cole nodded. “And rolling the ball so it goes in the hole.”

_What?_ Fenris thought, with some annoyance. A moment later, Solas and Cole drew level with him, and Solas addressed him directly. “Is something wrong, Fenris?”

At Solas’s words, he realized he was frowning. “No,” he said. 

Solas bowed his head slightly. “If you have any questions, you have but to ask.”

Fenris glanced suspiciously between Solas and Cole for a moment. “You prefer the company of… of spirits over people,” he said to Solas. 

“People can be trying,” Solas said. “Mankind most of all.” 

Without quite meaning to, Fenris huffed in amusement, and Solas smiled slightly. Then Fenris jerked his chin at Cole. “You don’t find _him_ trying? The riddles and the… indirectness.”

Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is a matter of familiarity, I suppose. The Fade is a place of constant flux, where thoughts and feelings and expectations are just as real as you and I. As a result, the denizens of the Fade tend to be less… blunt.” 

Fenris gave Solas a shrewd look. “You make it sound as though you have spent more time in the Fade than in the real world.”

Solas looked away. “Sometimes it feels that way to me, as well,” he said softly. 

Fenris studied his profile for a moment. Sera had once said that Solas’s head was ‘crammed up a thousand years ago’, and Fenris was inclined to agree. The elven mage claimed he was not Dalish, but there was something about his particular brand of overly-knowledgeable melancholy that reminded Fenris strongly of Merrill.

“For what purpose do you cling so fiercely to the ways of the ancient elves?” Fenris suddenly asked. 

Solas looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows. “Do you find no value in recalling the past? In remembering the wonders of our history?”

“It is not _my_ history. It is simply history,” Fenris said. “Besides, there is a difference between recalling and reliving. You seem strangely set on reliving what’s dead and gone.” He raised one eyebrow. “It strikes me that you and the Dalish have that in common.”

Solas pursed his lips and looked away from Fenris once more. “Would it surprise you that we do not?” he said. “The Dalish have no more interest in the accuracy of our heritage than you do. They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” He gave Fenris a disapproving look. “I find myself surprised that you speak of the past this way. Are you not a man who is missing a significant portion of his own past? Would you not reclaim that past if you could? Regain the memories that you lost and feel their fullness once more?” 

Fenris clenched his jaw. “Of course I would have my memory back, if I could,” he gritted. “But not at the expense of the life I have now.” 

“Why?” Solas said.

Fenris scowled. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Solas shook his head slightly. “I apologize. I was unclear.” He looked Fenris in the eye once more. “If you were given the chance to go back, to reclaim your memories and the life you lost, would you not do it?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “No. I would not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Solas asked.

Solas’s gaze was unnervingly intense, and Fenris drew back slightly. “There is no guarantee that that life would be better,” he said guardedly. “In fact, I’m certain it would not be.” He glanced at Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips as she strolled up ahead. 

He returned his gaze to Solas’s face. “Life is not about going backwards. It’s about moving on,” he said firmly. It had taken Fenris far too many years to learn this truth – years of anger and hate, years he wasted fuming about his unknown past while Hawke had waited in the wings, wanting nothing more than to love him. At the end of the day, Fenris knew this to be true: had he not moved on, moved past the regrets of his forgotten past and the vitriolic hate that Danarius and Hadriana had planted in his soul, he and Hawke would not be walking this road together now. 

Solas, however, was clearly unconvinced. “And yet you used Alexius’s time-travel medallion to return to this time, rather than accepting your fate in the future and moving forth,” he said. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the blandness of Solas’s tone. “This is my time,” he retorted. “That cursed, blighted future was not.”

Solas studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Fenris eyed him with some annoyance, and they walked in silence for a time with Cole hovering vaguely between them. Then Solas looked at Fenris. “I… would walk alone for a time, if you don’t mind.”

Fenris shrugged, then watched as Solas pulled ahead and slightly to the left. Frankly, he was rather relieved to be divested of the elven mage’s company. 

Then Cole finally spoke. "Old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real. This side is slow and heavy, but here is what can change."

Fenris scowled. “What are you talking about?”

Cole tilted his head. His eyes were on Solas’s hooded head. “His hurt is quiet. Softer, subtler, not silent but still.” 

Fenris tutted. “He’s no different than anyone else,” he said quietly. “Everyone is damaged. Everyone has some sort of… scar. It is best to try and move past it. To make a life that is greater than the harms that were done in the past.” He jerked his chin at Solas. “He should try it sometime.”

Cole nodded. “I will try to help him,” he said.

Fenris shrugged again, and his eyes returned to Hawke. Her arm was cozily linked with Carver’s, and it seemed that Carver had stopped trying to shunt off her affections for now.

He smiled faintly. Then Cole spoke again. “Red hair like the blood that almost stained her hands. She lives in a place that’s not her home, toiling as a tailor like she told you before.”

_Varania._ Goosebumps rippled across Fenris’s arms. He shot Cole a sharp look. “How can you… she is nowhere near here,” he said roughly. At least, Fenris didn’t think she was. In truth, he had no idea where Varania was now. “How can you hear her thoughts?”

“Your hurt touches hers,” Cole explained. His blank blue eyes settled on Fenris’s face. “She is jealous still. But if you had been wiped away, if you were made _not_ you, she would be not her. She would be a monster.”

Fenris frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”

“You were everything she wanted to be,” Cole said. “Mired in magic, loved, seen. You were free.”

Fenris shook his head slightly. “But that’s… She was free long before I ever was. She said so herself.” But even as he said it, he could start to see how that wasn’t entirely true. Imperial mages who wished that badly for power were beholden to their blasted mentors, bound by their own lust for power to do whatever abhorrent act was necessary. Including, it seemed, selling out one’s own family.

Suddenly Fenris wondered if Varania even was a mage. She’d shown no evidence of magic that day in the Hanged Man, and it was a well-known wish among the soporati to find themselves manifesting magic out of the blue. If Danarius had taken advantage of that wish in his sister… 

Cole interrupted his thoughts, as he was wont to do. “You gave her a chance. You didn’t kill her.”

“That wasn’t my… Hawke and Varric stopped me,” he said distractedly. “I would have…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.

“You would have been sad afterwards,” Cole said softly. “You gave her a chance to not be a monster.” 

Fenris huffed. He was finding it oddly difficult to look at Cole. “I can only hope she’s not wasting it.”

Cole nodded, and Fenris walked beside him for a while longer in an increasingly awkward silence. Then he heard Varric’s shout. “Hey, guys, look alive. Undead up ahead.”

Fenris looked up. Sure enough, on the path ahead, a group of about five grisly-looking undead were attacking an elven woman and two Grey Wardens. 

Fenris pulled his great-axe from his back and bolted toward the nearest undead archer. In the space of a minute, the undead were lying in grisly pieces on the ground, and one of the Wardens was helping the elven woman to her feet. 

Fenris returned his weapon to his back as the second Warden nodded to him. “The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid, Inquisitor.” His eyes darted to Fenris’s left hand.

Fenris closed his fist and nodded politely, but he was on high alert. Leliana had warned that Grey Wardens had been sighted here, in this place where Stroud was hiding. 

“What business do you have in Crestwood?” Fenris asked. Beside him, Hawke shifted her weight casually to one hip, but he could feel her wariness as clearly as the rain that was tapping on his hood. 

“A Warden named Stroud is wanted for questioning,” the Warden said. “We heard he’d passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have troubles enough.”

“We’ve heard,” Cassandra said. “We are on our way there now to offer aid.” 

“Good,” the Warden said fervently. “I wish there was more we could do to help them, but our orders forbid it. Crestwood was only a detour.”

Varric raised his eyebrows in pretend surprise. “You’re hunting a rogue Warden? You guys can go rogue? I didn’t know that was possible.”

The Warden lifted his shoulders. “Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture. I can say no more than that.” 

“I hope Ser Stroud comes with us peacefully,” the other Warden said. “I trained under him for a time. He’s a good man.”

Fenris nodded in farewell, and the Wardens gave a brisk salute before continuing on their way. Hawke folded her arms pensively as she watched them go. “They were acting pretty normally, right?” she said to Fenris and Varric. “No weirdness from them. Not like those Wardens in Corypheus’s prison.”

“They stay by oaths sworn in blood,” Cole said dreamily. “Not theirs, then their own. They’re true.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. “That’s good. I think. Well, they were still after Stroud, so we’d better hurry.”

They continued along the path to Crestwood Village at a faster clip. Soon they were at the threshold of the village, and not a moment too late: a fresh wave of undead fighters had just begun attacking the scared-looking sentries who were guarding the gate. 

Fenris clenched his fists, and his tattoos lit his skin at the same moment as Hawke’s barrier settled over him. Thus protected, he phased toward the crowd of reanimated corpses and began hacking them apart, with Cassandra and Cole close behind. 

Cole blinked swiftly in and out of sight as he darted around their enemies, and Fenris couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. The first time he’d seen Cole fighting, he’d been a little bit shocked; the vague and floaty spirit-boy became a fierce and focused fighter when his daggers came out. The blades flicked and sliced expertly across their enemies’ flesh, and Cole was distinctly difficult to track on the battlefield: one moment he would be targeting a foe to Fenris’s left, and in the space of a blink he was behind Fenris altogether and tripping a man before slitting his throat with a swift and vicious slash. Sometimes it would seem that Cole had left the fight altogether, then an enemy who had been fighting ferociously would suddenly topple to the ground, bled to death from a dozen tiny cuts to the thigh. 

Needless to say, Cole’s fighting style was unnerving but undeniably effective. Within a few short minutes, Fenris, Cole and Cassandra felled the crowd of angry but slow-moving undead, with primarily defensive help from the mages and Varric.

The moment the last undead toppled to the ground, Cole sheathed his daggers. “You can’t hurt me,” he said to one bisected corpse, then carefully stepped over the body and drifted back toward Solas, who was following Hawke and Varric as they approached the sentries. 

Cassandra frowned at Cole’s departing back, then looked at Fenris. “I have noticed that you and Cole move on the field of battle in a similar way,” she said.

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow as he wiped his battleaxe clean. “Is that a fact, or an accusation?” 

She smiled, but her frown swiftly returned. “Truly, do you not think it odd?”  
`  
Fenris paused before replying. “I have wondered about it myself,” he admitted. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way Cole phased from place to place in combat. Fenris assumed that Cole was somehow moving through the Fade, given that he was a spirit. But if that’s how Cole was doing it, and Fenris could move in a very similar way when his tattoos were active… 

He’d always assumed his lyrium marks worked by accessing the Fade. But Fenris hadn’t really taken the time to think about _how_ exactly his tattoos gained access to the Fade. Cole was a spirit; phasing through the Fade was probably a natural thing for him to do. But Fenris was a real being. Was his physical body moving through the Fade every time he flashed across a battlefield? Each time he dragged someone’s heart out of their ribs, was he dragging his fist through the Fade as well? 

Fenris slid his greataxe onto his back and considered Cassandra’s question. Solas would probably be able to explain the phenomenon to him. But speaking to Solas was becoming increasingly tiring. Every conversation Fenris and Solas had somehow felt steeped in double meanings, and Fenris was rarely in the mood for such things, especially with everything else that weighed on his mind. 

Perhaps he could ask Hawke to speak to Solas on his behalf. Solas’s circumferential speech seemed to amuse her more than anything else, and she would be able to parse out the relevant information for Fenris.

“Perhaps Solas can tell us more,” Cassandra said. 

Fenris nodded. “My thoughts exactly,” he told her, and they walked over to join the others.

Hawke looked up at him as they approached the village gates. “The mayor is in his cabin,” she told him and Cassandra. “He should be able to tell us something about where that underwater rift is coming from.” She grimaced as they made their way into the village. “No one has left this village in weeks because of the undead. They’re probably all going a little stir-crazy.”

Cassandra frowned. “We should have the Inquisition bring supplies to these people once the undead are dealt with,” she said, and Cole nodded agreement. 

“One of those sentries mentioned bandits,” Varric said. “Better stop them first.”

“We will speak to the mayor first,” Fenris decided. “Get a better sense of what is happening in this apparently cursed place.” 

Twenty minutes later, after speaking to the mayor and the various denizens of the village, Fenris, Hawke, and their companions left the village, and Fenris folded his arms and looked at them all. “We have two tasks, then,” he said. “Clearing the bandits from Caer Bronach so we can drain the lake, and meeting Stroud.” He looked at Cassandra. “You, Solas and Cole can go to the keep. Oust the bandits and await us there.”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “Inquisit– Fenris. We will go right away.” 

“I can go with them, too,” Carver said. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to come with us?”

Carver _tsk_ ed. “It’s not like that. You don’t need me to talk to Stroud. But I can definitely help to take out a bunch of bandits.” 

Fenris shrugged. “Go on. We will see you soon.” 

Carver nodded to Fenris and made a face at Hawke as she blew him a kiss. A minute later, Fenris, Varric and Hawke were trudging along a poorly-maintained path that wound its way up a wet and grassy hill, and Hawke sighed. 

“He couldn’t get away from me fast enough, could he?” she said.

“To be fair, you spent most of the trip making fun of him,” Varric pointed out. 

Hawke mock-pouted. “As though you haven’t been enjoying it.”

Varric smirked. “I never said I didn’t. It is pretty funny how his shoulders come up to his ears when he’s mad.”

Hawke snickered, but Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “Carver’s choice was a good one. His skills are better used helping Cassandra and the others with the bandits.”

Hawke gasped in mock surprise. “Are you calling my baby brother thick?” Then she shrugged casually. “Ah, he has always been more brawn than brain, I suppose. He would have come with us if you’d asked him to, though.”

“And why would I do that?” Fenris said. 

“So we could spend more time with him!” Hawke said. “I haven’t seen him for two years, and he’s already sick of me after five days?” She elbowed Fenris. “You spent two whole years alone with me, and _you’re_ not sick of me.”

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, I am not your brother.” 

Varric snorted. “Andraste’s ass, this just got weird.”

Fenris shot him a chiding smirk, then looked at Hawke once more. “You didn’t spend those two years interrogating me about my sex life or reminding me of embarrassing things I did when I was small. Or goading me into making foolish bets.”

She widened her eyes comically. “Well, I couldn’t very well interrogate you about your sex life. I _am_ your sex life.” 

Varric loudly cleared his throat, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Hawke…”

She sighed. “Fine, fine. So what are you saying? I’m being mean to Carver?”

“Not _mean_ , exactly.” Fenris shrugged and kicked a stray wet leaf off of his bare foot. “But you might try speaking to him in a different way. Or speaking _to_ him instead of taunting him.” He shot her a knowing look. “A normal conversation, perhaps.”

Hawke recoiled slightly, then laughed. “What? No. That would be weird.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “It would weird to have a regular conversation with your brother?”

“Yes,” Hawke said slowly, as though he was being obtuse. “Carver and I don’t _do_ normal conversations.”

“Well, perhaps now is the time, since he is with the Inquisition,” Fenris suggested. “Unless you would prefer that he continue choosing Cassandra’s company over ours.”

Hawke lifted her shoulders ruefully. “Well, Cassandra _is_ a bona fide babe.” 

Varric huffed. “She’s lacking your sense of humour, though.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Aw, Varric, you sweetheart. It’s nice to know _someone_ would pick me for their team.” She slung her arm affectionately around Varric’s neck.

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “You might also consider that Carver’s choice to go with Cassandra instead is not about you.” 

“What are you talking about?” Hawke said. She blinked comically at Fenris. “Everything is about me.”

Fenris refused to rise to her jokes. “It is not, though,” he said seriously. “You’re not at the center of things anymore, and I am immensely grateful for that. But…” He trailed off as he tried to find a way to explain his point without accidentally being unkind. 

Varric came to his rescue. “You’re the hero of your story, Hawke,” he said. “Carver wants to be the hero in _his_ story, but no one will see him as one because you’re there. He’s trying to be helpful and do his own thing, but he can’t really do that without being reminded of how popular you are.” He grimaced slightly and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Joining the Inquisition is probably like reliving the first few years that you guys were in Kirkwall.”

Hawke slumped slightly. “But how is that my fault?” she said plaintively. “I didn’t _ask_ to be ‘the’ Hawke in Kirkwall. I didn’t ask to go head-to-head with the Arishok or to be Meredith and Orsino’s little errand girl. I didn’t ask to be the eldest child in the fucking family–” 

Fenris took her hand. “We are not saying it’s your fault,” he said quietly. “But Carver won’t see himself as anything but your younger brother if that is all you see, as well.”

“That’s not all I see,” she protested, but she wouldn’t quite look Fenris or Varric in the eye. “Besides, you make it sound so easy to just start having a normal conversation with him.” She adopted a mocking high-pitched voice. “‘Oh, hello Carver, let’s exchange omelette recipes. How’s the family? Oh wait, that’s me.’” She let out a brittle laugh. “It’s not that easy, Fenris. Carver and I don’t have anything in common. I can strike up a nice chat with anyone _except_ my own bloody brother.” 

Varric sighed and gave Fenris an apologetic glance. “She’s got a point, elf. Breaking old habits with a sibling is… really damned tricky.” 

Fenris grunted. _I wouldn’t know,_ he thought bitterly. But it would be petty to make such a snide remark. Instead, he said to Hawke, “You found a way with me. You and I had little in common when we met.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yes, well, I can’t exactly flirt like mad and offer myself on a silver platter to my baby brother, can I?”

Fenris wrinkled his nose, and Varric made a choking noise. “All right, this is getting weird again,” he drawled. “Good thing we’re almost at the rendezvous point.”

Hawke chuckled, and Varric smirked at her as he pulled Bianca from his back. Then he sped up a bit to scout the entrance of the smuggler’s cave where Stroud was hiding. 

Fenris waited until Varric was out of earshot, then leaned in close to Hawke. “You did not win me over by flirting or offering me your body,” he said in a low voice. “If that is all it took, then Isabela would have succeeded.”

She looked up at him with a saucy smile. “Ooh. Is this where you give me a list of reasons that you love me? Too bad Cole isn’t here to help out. That was extremely entertaining.” 

He pulled her to a stop and waited until her expression became serious. “You were genuine with me,” Fenris told her quietly. “You gave me more than jokes and flattery. You told me truths about yourself, Hawke. You allowed me to see more than just your smile.” He brushed a wet spike of her bangs away from her forehead. “You are more than the face you show the world. I am just as entertained by that foolish joking face as anyone else, but that is not why I love you.”

Her eyes were on her feet. She swallowed hard and smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said airily. “I’m at least eighty percent stupid jokes. The other twenty is bald-faced sexual innuendo.”

Fenris tilted her chin up, but she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “That is not true, and you know it,” he said, very quietly. “You could try letting Carver know that, as well.” 

She inhaled through her lips, then finally met his gaze. Her eyes were bright with tears, and the solemn warmth in her expression only reminded him of all the reasons that she held his heart. 

A soft whistle pierced the constant patter of rain, and Fenris and Hawke looked toward the mouth of the cave. Varric had replaced Bianca on his back, and when Fenris met his eye, he waved for them to join him and ducked back into the shelter of the cave. 

Fenris quickly kissed Hawke on the lips, then ushered her forward with a gentle hand on her back. “Come,” he said gently. “Stroud and his mustache will be waiting for us.”

She immediately seized the opening for humour, just as Fenris had known she would. “Well, _I’ve_ been waiting to see his mustache too,” she drawled. “Remember the size of it, and the span?” She playfully fanned herself and shot Fenris a mischievous look. “Do you think all Grey Wardens have fantastic facial hair? Stroud’s mustache, Blackwall’s beard...Oh, no, those two Wardens we met on the way in were clean-shaven.” She tutted as they stepped into the cave. “A pity, that.” 

“Don’t forget the female Wardens, Hawke,” Varric remarked as they drew near. “Probably not much facial hair among the ladies.”

Hawke scoffed. “Oh come now, Varric, have a little imagination. A bearded female Warden would be my ideal hero. I wonder if the Hero of Ferelden has a beard. Remind me to ask Leliana when we get back to Skyhold.” She slipped past him and knocked on the locked door that led into the smuggler’s den. “Oh, Stroud!” she sang out. “It’s us.”

A moment later, they heard the soft _clink_ of a lock, and the door cracked open. Hawke shifted so the occupant of the room could see her face, and then the door opened all the way. 

Stroud stood there with his sword drawn and his customary worried frown. “Hawke,” he said. He sheathed his sword and offered her a sweeping bow. “Fenris. It is good to see you both again, though I regret the unfortunate circumstances.” He offered his hand to Fenris to shake. 

Fenris briefly shook his hand as Hawke gestured to Varric. “Stroud, this is Varric Tethras. Infamous author, even-more-infamous arbalist, and our closest friend.”

Stroud nodded politely to Varric. “Master Tethras. I have heard of you, though I’m afraid I’ve not had the time to read your books.”

Varric waved him off. “Ah, who can blame you, given… you know. Darkspawn.”

Stroud nodded again, and his expression grew more serious still as he turned to Hawke and Fenris. “I’m glad you are here,” he said. “The timing of all of this – Corypheus’s attack on Haven, and the disaster with Wardens… it is both serendipitous and ominously bad.” He looked at Hawke. “I was trying to find out more about the origins of red lyrium, as you well know. But I began hearing talk among the senior Wardens about Corypheus – vague whispers, you understand, but enough to make me concerned, given what you had done in his prison.”

Hawke shook her head. “That’s what we don’t understand. How the fuck did he survive? We _killed_ him, Stroud. Fenris cleaved his head from his body, and he was missing two of his limbs before even that. There’s no way he was alive when we were done with him.” 

Stroud nodded sadly. “An archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. I began to investigate, but it was difficult; any information about Corypheus is closely guarded by the senior officers, and my investigation uncovered only clues – no proof. I had not gotten far before every Warden in Orlais began to hear the calling.”

Fenris frowned. “The calling? What is that?” 

“It tells the Warden that the Blight will soon claim him,” Stroud said somberly. He turned away and gazed at the table behind him, which was covered with maps and books. “It starts with dreams,” he said. “Then... whispers in your head.” He looked up at Fenris and Hawke once more. “The Warden says his farewells and goes to the deep roads to meet his death in combat.”

“Fuck,” Hawke breathed. Her eyes were wide. “You’re hearing it too, aren’t you?”

Stroud nodded once. “Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire.” He bowed his head, then looked at them once more. “The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but… at times, I almost understand it.”

She took a step toward him. “Stroud…” 

He held up a reassuring hand. “I suspect that Corypheus is making all the Wardens hear the calling,” he said. “He is a magister as well as a darkspawn, and he speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves.”

“Shit,” Varric said. He looked up at Fenris and Hawke. “That must be how he was making the Wardens in his prison go all weird, too.”

Fenris shook his head in disgust. “Mind control. It is abhorrent.”

“I quite agree,” Stroud said. “And if all the Wardens think they are dying…” He sighed. “If we should fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.”

Varric groaned and tugged one of his earrings. “And if they’re all scared, they’re going to something desperate. You know, as you do.” 

“Precisely,” Stroud said. He paced slowly in front of them. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before all the Grey Wardens perish.”

Fenris looked up in alarm. “Blood magic? The Wardens are planning to use blood magic?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stroud said. “When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me. I was forced to run, and that is when I returned your letter.” He bowed slightly to Hawke. “I apologize for my tardy replies.”

She waved him off. “It’s all right. I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.” She smiled, but her eyebrows were lifted with worry.

“Tell us about this Clarel,” Fenris commanded. “Has she always practiced blood magic in the Grey Wardens’ name?”

Hawke shifted closer and placed a soothing hand on his wrist, and Stroud shook his head. “Not that I have ever seen. She was a good Warden once; among those that King Cailan reached out to before the Blight. But when the false calling began, Clarel stopped listening to the rest of us. She said that only magic could solve this problem.”

Fenris turned away and dragged a hand through his hair, then scowled at Stroud. “She sounds like a Tevinter,” he said. He turned to Hawke and Varric. “Clearly she has allied with the Venatori.”

Hawke winced, then turned to Stroud. “Is it possible that Corypheus is controlling her? Maybe forcing her to do blood magic?”

“Do not try and make excuses for her,” Fenris snapped. “Falling to blood magic is a choice!” 

Hawke held up her hands. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Stroud stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “It is hard to say,” he told them. “But I have heard the whispers of the calling myself, and it is only noise: no words, and certainly no commands.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Either way, the guilt is hers. Fenris is correct: she made this choice. She is Warden-Commander. She should bow to no one’s word but Weisshaupt’s.” He ushered them closer and pointed at the map on the table. “Grey Wardens have been travelling here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. We will find our answers there.”

Hawke frowned at the map. “All right. Looks like we’re going on another nice long trip.”

Varric huffed. “The Western Approach, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “Sandy. Dunes. Not great for walking. Maybe I’ll sit this one out.”

Hawke snorted and flicked his ear. “As if you could resist coming along. We all know you’re dying to document everything for the book you’re going to write about all this.”

Varric chuckled. Meanwhile, Fenris nodded to Stroud. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” he said. “We would appreciate your assistance when it is time to confront this Warden-Commander Clarel.” 

Stroud bowed to him. “It is my unfortunate duty to assist in every way I can.” He straightened and looked between Fenris and Hawke. “I understand you are bound by many responsibilities. I will go to the Western Approach immediately and collect what information I can, and I will send it to your spymaster. Please meet me as soon as you can.”

Fenris nodded once more, then jerked his head for Hawke and Varric to follow him out of the cave. Once they were outside, Varric folded his arms and looked up at them both. “Okay, here we go…”

Fenris glared at Hawke. “You cannot think this Warden-Commander is truly being controlled by Corypheus.”

Hawke widened her eyes and lifted her shoulders. “It’s not that crazy an idea! Corypheus controlled the Wardens in his prison pretty directly. We should consider the possibility.”

“A possibility to claim Clarel is innocent, you mean?” Fenris sneered. 

“If she is, it would be good for the Inquisition to have the Wardens on our side,” Hawke said. 

“And if she is not?” Fenris demanded. “If she chose to ally with the Venatori of her own free will?”

She hesitated, and Fenris took a step closer to her. “A weak mage will take any excuse to build their power. Desperation is the first excuse they will grasp.”

Hawke wilted in exasperation. “Fenris, come on. Being scared that everyone you know is dying is a pretty good reason to be desperate.” 

“No reason is good enough to resort to blood magic,” he spat. 

“ _I_ resorted to blood magic when we were stuck in Corypheus’s prison!” Hawke exclaimed. “Have you forgotten that?”

“Hawke, you spilled a few drops of your own blood to open a lock. You didn’t make a pact with a demon or raise bodies from the dead,” Fenris retorted in equal exasperation. “Have _you_ forgotten the horrendous abomination that Orsino became in his final moments of desperation?”

“We don’t even know what the Wardens are doing yet,” Hawke said. “You’re condemning their Commander without even knowing what they’ve done!”

“Hey, how about we take this argument with us and go meet the others?” Varric suggested brightly. “You guys can fight and walk at the same time.” 

Hawke exhaled and smiled at Varric, but Fenris wasn’t finished. As they headed along the path to Caer Bronach, he glared at her. “When we go to the Western Approach, we will see what is happening,” he said. “If there is no direct mind-control involved, then—” 

Hawke shot him an annoyed look. “Then what? Are you going to blame all the Wardens for their commander making a stupid choice?”

“Stroud stood up to her,” Fenris pointed out. “The other Wardens could as well.”

Hawke sighed and took his hand. “Everyone is not as strong as Stroud. Or as well-endowed with facial hair.”

Fenris ignored her attempt at humour. “And that remains the problem,” he said. “Mages who are not strong enough to resist the lure of power that they can’t control.” He pulled her closer. “Every mage is not like you.” 

She scoffed and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’m not that special, Fenris. You’d see that if you talked to more of our mages. You should come to the mage tower when we get home. We’ll make you special Inquisitor snacks and everything.”

He huffed skeptically and didn’t reply, and the three of them walked in silence for a time. Then, as they approached the Caer, he glanced at Hawke. “If you find some of those roasted nuts with the Rivaini spice, I will consider coming to the mage tower. I’ll consider it,” he said warningly as Hawke squeezed his waist. “I did not say for certain that I will come.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s an opening. I’ll take it.”

“Aw, a happy ending,” Varric drawled. “I could shed a tear.”

Hawke snickered and released Fenris to scuffle with Varric instead. Two of Leliana’s scouts were waiting at the gate to Caer Bronach, and they saluted Fenris as they drew close. 

“Your Worship,” one scout said. “The Lady Seeker, Master Solas, and Ser Carver are waiting for you inside.”

“And that strange boy,” the second scout added. 

The first scout looked at her in alarm. “What strange boy? What are you on about?”

Fenris waved his hand tiredly. “Thank you,” he said, and they passed through the gates to go meet the others. 

They were clustered around a cookfire talking quietly amongst themselves, and Cassandra rose to her feet as they came near. “Fenris, Hawke. Varric.” She nodded to them, then pointed to a door to the left of the stairs they’d just ascended. “There is a passage that way that leads to the dam and its controls.”

Fenris glanced at the door and nodded. “Excellent. We will move on as soon as you’re all ready.” He glanced between her, Solas, Carver, and Cole. “Any injuries?” 

“The usual bruises and scrapes, nothing big,” Carver said. He nodded his head to an elven scout who was standing nearby in discussion with her colleagues. “That’s the lead scout, Charter. She said one of Sister Leliana’s operatives is missing, a fellow named Butcher.” He raised his eyebrows at Fenris. “Should we look for him while we’re out?”

Fenris nodded. “A fine idea. We might as well.” 

Carver straightened and gave him a sharp nod that was reminiscent of a salute. Then Solas rose to his feet as well. “I believe we have rested enough,” he said to Fenris. “We are ready to be on our way, if you are.”

Fenris glanced at Varric and Hawke. “Are you two in need of rest, or…?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Varric said, and Hawke nodded agreement. “The sight of Stroud’s beautiful hirsute face always rejuvenates me,” she said. “I’m bright and bushy-tailed and ready to go.”

Carver rolled his eyes, then jumped in surprise when Cole spoke up. “But you don’t have a tail,” the spirit-boy said.

Hawke laughed and slung her arm around Cole’s shoulders as they made their way toward the door to the dam. “It’s just a metaphor, Cole. But while we’re here, let me teach you a lesson in language. ‘Tail’ can mean an actual tail, or it can also mean something a bit more lewd–” 

Varric snorted. “Come on, Hawke, you’re gonna corrupt the kid’s mind with dirty talk already?”

Hawke grinned at Varric, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Consider it his initiation,” he drawled. “Once Hawke has draped the demon in innuendo, he will really be one of the group.” 

Solas glanced at him, then looked away with a faint smile. Cassandra huffed. “A rather undignified initiation for the Inquisition, don’t you think?” she said archly. 

“ _Is_ there some kind of initiation for the Inquisition?” Carver piped up. “I mean, I kind of just… showed up, and you said I could join. Is that what everyone does?”

Varric smirked up at him. “Were you hoping for a hazing ritual?”

Carver frowned. “No. It just seems a bit weird. The Inquisition is a big deal. I just thought there’d be more ceremony.”

Fenris grunted. “I have had enough ceremony, myself,” he muttered.

Hawke squeezed his hand, then drifted over to her brother’s side. “Well, if it’s hazing you want…”

Fenris glanced at her. She met his eye, then slipped her hand through the crook of Carver’s arm. “Too bad,” she said to Carver. “I’m just glad you’re here to help us out.”

Carver’s eyebrows leapt up on his forehead. “Oh. Um, thanks, Rynne. I mean – of course I came to help. It’s, um, a good cause.”

“Yes, it is,” Hawke said. She paused for a beat, and Fenris waited. 

Then Hawke spoke again: “Following the most handsome elf in all of Thedas and staring at his ass all day is certainly my idea of a good cause.”

Varric snorted, and Cassandra and Carver groaned, and Fenris simply shook his head. _She tried,_ he thought in amusement. _One step at a time._

After all, one step at a time was all anyone could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOSY QUESTION FOR YOU READERS: what’s your favourite romance in Inquisition, out of curiosity? I’m obviously a Solasmancer, but I also love Blackwall a lot. LIKE A LOT. He’s my happy-ending romance. What about you guys?
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you want to come hang out!


	17. Interlude: Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another largely optional chapter here: sappy feelings, wedding talk, and smut. Read at your own risk. XD

Hawke cracked open the door to the Rusted Horn and peeked inside. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Fenris waited, then relaxed as her echoing voice returned unanswered to his ears. Hawke smirked up at him. “Looks like our resident clandestine couple have gone home,” she said. 

“Good,” Fenris said. It had been a long and effortful day of hunting bandits and closing rifts and killing demons in the sodden remains of Old Crestwood, and he was looking forward to a night of uninterrupted peace and quiet. He pulled the door wide and gestured for Hawke to enter the abandoned tavern, then followed her inside and bolted the door behind them with no small amount of satisfaction. 

He walked down the short corridor to the main room of the tavern. Hawke was already building the embers in the fireplace into a proper fire. Fenris put down the large wolfskin blanket he’d brought from Caer Bronach, then pressed his focus into the lyrium marks on his skin and carefully inspected the darkest corners of the Rusted Horn.

When he was satisfied that the tavern was truly empty, he allowed his tattoos to go inert and returned to the main area. A fire was dancing merrily in the hearth, and Hawke had rolled the wolfskin blanket out in front of the fireplace. She’d already hung up her cloak and discarded her socks and boots, and she was contentedly wiggling her bare toes in front of the flames. 

Fenris studied the back of her dark-haired head with an odd sort of pang in his chest. They used to do this all the time in the study of her Kirkwall mansion – stretching out barefoot on the carpet, enjoying a blazing fire. Through all the years they’d known each other, this was the most constant activity they’d retained. 

While sitting in front of the fire in her study, Fenris had begun to release his guarded suspicions, and Hawke had dropped her jocular mask for the first time. They’d spent years in front of that fire: talking and flirting, fighting and fucking, laughing until there were tears in Hawke’s eyes and clutching each other close as her rare bursts of grief and stress soaked into his shoulder. He and Hawke had spent so much time in front of that fire that Fenris almost couldn’t distinguish the memories anymore; they were melded and blended in his mind, mixing together until he couldn't disentangle one moment from the next, leaving him with a general impression of pure and peaceful contentment. 

The fireplace in Hawke’s study had borne witness to the nebulous shifting of his feelings. It had seen their faltering growth from acquaintances to unlikely friends to ex-lovers, then finally to two people who were bound so tightly that they couldn’t bear to be apart. Now, as Fenris watched her lounging comfortably in front of a fireplace for the first time since they’d left Alamar… 

The sight was both painfully familiar and strange at once. It gave him a vertiginous sense of nostalgia, like an ache of love and longing even though the object of his affections was sitting right in front of him, and he inhaled carefully through his nose before padding over to her side.

He hung his cloak next to hers, then sat beside her on the blanket. “Privacy at last,” he said quietly. He began to idly thread his fingers through the short chestnut hair at her nape.

She smiled and closed her eyes as he ran his thumb behind her ear. “Mmm,” she murmured dreamily. “Yes, privacy after six whole days of communal camping.”

Her tone was teasing, and Fenris huffed quietly. “Don’t pretend you are not enjoying it too,” he said. He leaned in close, then inhaled the scent behind her ear before nipping her neck with his lips. 

She released a soft little sigh, and Fenris trailed his mouth along the line of her jaw until he met her lush parted lips. Hawke cradled his cheek as they kissed, and Fenris savoured the taste of her tongue and the crackling warmth of the fire against the soles of his feet. 

A moment later, she pulled away and fondly stroked his chin. “I feel so young right now,” she whispered. “Like a delinquent youth.” 

The smile that lifted her lips was mischievous and warm, and Fenris gave her a chiding look. “We are not old, Hawke.” 

“I suppose not,” she said. “It’s just funny, that’s all. That Lonnie and Milton sneaking away for a sexy moment alone, despite those nasty undead wandering around everywhere.” She playfully pinched his chin. “You pretended to be all huffy at those poor kids, and now here we are doing the same thing as them.”

Fenris pulled her hand away from his chin and kissed her knuckles. “Who said I was pretending?” he said.

She chuckled and shifted closer until her legs were slung across his lap. “I know you were amused. Admit it.” 

Fenris smirked faintly and wrapped his arm around her. “All right. I’ll admit it was mildly amusing. But still, it was irresponsible.” He shook his head ruefully. “They weren’t carrying a single weapon between them.” 

Hawke laughed. “Most people carry no weapons, Fenris.” 

“In this day and age, perhaps they should,” he retorted.

She raised an eyebrow. “And who’s going to train them in using these weapons? Are you volunteering?” She suddenly sat up a bit straighter. “Maybe an Inquisition task force or something to train civilians in basic combat! That’s not a terrible idea, right?”

Fenris nodded thoughtfully. “It is a good idea, in fact,” he agreed. “I will suggest it to Cullen and Cassandra.”

Then he frowned. Why in the Void were they discussing the Inquisition? He’d brought Hawke here to escape the cursed Inquisition for a time. 

He shook his head slightly, then cradled her neck in his palm. “Enough business for now,” he said. 

A slow and saucy smile lit her face. “Ah. Exchanging business for pleasure, are we?”

“Yes,” he growled softly. He gently brushed his nose against hers. “I hope you’ll agree the exchange is more than warranted.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” she whispered, and her lips found his once more. 

They kissed in front of the fireplace, and her fingers plucked at his chestplate until he pulled it off. Their belts were the next to go, discarded between the increasingly urgent meeting of their hungry lips, and it wasn’t long before Hawke was straddling Fenris’s lap with only their trousers and tunics and smallclothes to separate their skin. 

Hawke stroked his arms and his chest and his abs, and Fenris’s whole body seemed to loosen and lighten with want at the heated touch of her hands. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her shirt to feel the small of her back, and he carefully nipped her full lower lip for the sheer pleasure of hearing her breath catch in her throat. Then her hands were on his shoulders, gripping firmly as she rolled her hips toward him. 

He grunted approvingly as she pressed the juncture of her thighs toward his swiftly swelling crotch. Her forehead was pressed to his, and her panting breaths were eager and hungry, and then her left hand was slipping down his chest to creep beneath the hem of his shirt. 

He grabbed at her hand, then exhaled shakily as she pressed her groin close to his. “Hawke,” he rasped. “Slow down.”

“Why?” she breathed. “We have all night.” Her fingers were persistent, and despite his gentle grip on her wrist, her thumb was smoothing a teasing circle around his navel. She delicately traced her tongue along the tip of his ear, sending a ripple of excitement down his spine, and her words were vibrant and teasing when she whispered in his ear. “Fast now, then slow later.”

Her fingers were trailing slowly from his navel down toward the edge of his wool leggings. He helplessly lifted his hips toward her, then pulled her errant hand out of his shirt and nipped her wrist in playful punishment. “I am done with rushing anything more today,” he told her. “Go slowly.” 

She tutted mockingly, but her hand relaxed in his grip. “All right. Since you ordered me in such a nice way. Benevolent but bossy: that’s your style of leadership.”

She was grinning. Fenris smiled back at her, then took her chin in his fingers and pulled her close. “Shut up, Hawke,” he whispered. 

She giggled, then fell silent as he kissed her once more. She twined the fingers of her left hand between his own, and the feel of her onyx-and-ruby engagement ring perked a small reminder at the back of his mind.

He slowly peeled himself away from her lips. “Hawke,” he murmured. “I have been meaning to ask you something, but I – we have not had the time…” He hesitated. Did he really want to bring this up right now, especially if it had been Josephine’s (albeit well-meaning) pressure that reminded him of it?

“What is it?” Hawke said. She smoothed a strand of hair back from his face.

He nervously licked his lips and considered backtracking, but no; Josephine might have reminded him of this, but if Fenris was honest, it was something he’d wanted for a long time now. 

He took a deep breath. In for a copper, in for a royal, as Hawke would say. “Would you like to get married?” he said bluntly. 

Her eyes went wide, and she released a bark of laughter. “ _That’s_ what you’re thinking about right now? Getting married?” She cocked her head teasingly. “I can’t decide if that’s a slur on my sexual prowess or insanely romantic on your part.”

He pinched her waist, making her squeak with laughter. “It has no bearing on your sexual prowess, I assure you,” he drawled. “And it’s a simple question. Or so I thought.”

She grinned and clasped his neck in her palms. “It’s been years since we got engaged,” she said. “It’s a little late now.” 

Her tone was casual and playful, but her cheeks were slowly turning a telltale shade of pink, and Fenris raised one eyebrow. “It is never too late,” he said. “Not if it is what we want.”

Her grin widened further. “When you asked me to marry you three years ago, you said you didn’t care either way–”

“I know what I said,” Fenris said with a hint of exasperation. “Are you really arguing with me about this?”

She burst into laughter. “No! No, of course not. I… yes, let’s get married!” 

He smiled at her flushed cheeks, then pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. He could feel the laughter in her lips as they kissed, and he slid his hands into her hair and pressed his forehead to hers. “Just to be clear: of course I want to marry you,” he told her. “I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t what I wanted, as well.”

She coyly ducked her head, and Fenris tipped her chin up to face him. “Why are you acting shy?” he asked. “You and I both know there’s not a timid bone in your body.”

She laughed loudly. “Thanks. I think,” she chirped. Then she ruffled her fingers through her short dark hair and shrugged. “I’m not being _shy,_ really. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m happy.” She affectionately stroked his jaw. “You’re going to be stuck with me forever.”

Her tone was jocular as always, but Fenris tilted a chiding look at her. “Hawke, I have been tied to you for years. Practically since the day we meet, if I am frank.” 

She barked out another short laugh. “Well, that doesn’t sound particularly flattering.”

He tipped her chin up once more and frowned at her. “I chose this entanglement,” he said quietly. “This is what I want. _You_ have always been what I want. You know I have had little choice in my life, but… you have always been my finest choice. Do not question that.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. Fenris lifted his chin, and Hawke answered his wordless demand with the press of her lips. 

This time, their kisses were slower and more lingering than before. His lips brushed softly over hers, tenderly painting the lush canvas of her mouth with his love, and her fingers were soft and gentle as they combed through this hair. When she broke away to pull off her tunic, he took advantage of the moment to remove his own as well. 

She threw her shirt aside, and Fenris immediately reached for the laces of her bustier. Hawke snickered softly as he skillfully untied the knots. “What happened to taking it slow?” she teased. 

He tugged the laces free from the last rung of eyelets, then swiftly parted her bustier and set it aside. “I am simply stripping you quickly,” he said. “Then I will go slow.” He admired the peaks of her dusky nipples and the subtle planes of her belly, then hooked his finger into the laces of her leather trousers. 

He lifted his gaze to her face. “Take these off for me,” he whispered. 

She smiled, then slid off of his lap and rose to her feet. Fenris slowly shifted onto his knees to watch her, and his swollen manhood pulsed in time with his heart as Hawke’s nimble fingers untied her trousers.

The trousers pooled at her feet with a soft hush of fabric. She unceremoniously kicked them aside, and Fenris reached for her. He stroked the subtle line under her sternum, and he brushed his thumb beneath the gentle swells of her breasts, and when Hawke subtly arched her spine, he ran his hand down over her belly and stroked the angle of her hip. 

She whimpered softly, and Fenris darted his gaze to her face. Her eyes were half-closed and her lips were slightly open, and when he stroked her body with his other hand as well, smoothing her hips with his thumbs before running his palms down the length of her thighs, she jerked her hips and shifted her legs slightly farther apart. 

His greedy gaze dropped between her legs. Her curls were damp, and there was a sheen of desire at the innermost corners of her thighs. Fenris lightly swept the moisture away with his thumbs before smoothing his palms down her silken inner thighs, then back up her body to tease the undersides of her breasts again. 

A desperate little sigh left her lips, and her hand rose to claw at her collarbone. “F-Fenris,” she begged, and she arched her back more insistently toward him. 

He shuffled closer on his knees and kissed the spot just beneath her navel. Hawke moaned, and her hands tensely clasped his shoulders. He gently kissed the inside of her thigh, and she burst out a gasp. 

“Fuck,” she whined. Her fingertips pressed into his shoulders, and when he licked the inside of her thigh, her nails dug into his skin. 

He hissed softly at the sudden bite of her nails, and she pulled her hands away. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Maker’s balls, Fenris, I’m really… sorry… oh Maker.” She broke off with a moan as he carefully ran his fingers along her cleft. 

“Replace your hands,” he told her. “You might need the support.” He gave her a roguish smirk, and before she could do more than breathlessly laugh, he parted her folds with two fingers and pressed his lips between her legs. 

He caressed her clit with his tongue, and she grabbed his shoulders once more. “Oh fuck,” she gasped. 

He stroked the angles of her hips with his thumbs, then clasped her thighs as he kissed the swollen spot between her legs. Her sweet-and-salty flavour bathed his tongue, and he stroked his tongue carefully over every plump fold until all he could taste was the moisture that his mouth had left behind. 

He kissed her sweetly, and the mewling sounds that left her throat were just as sweet. Fenris treated her slowly just as he’d said he would, tracing two fingers between her legs in a lingering caress while tracing her clit in a slow and tender circle, and her thigh grew tense beneath his palm while her fingers became tense in the tawny skin of his shoulders. 

He ran his tongue along the length of her cleft, and Hawke clenched her fingers and sobbed his name in a broken voice, and then her pleasure was echoing to the rafters as she trembled and struggled to stay upright while he lifted her to her peak with the careful devotion of his fingers and his tongue. 

She arched against his mouth, then fell to her knees in front of him, and Fenris didn’t give her time to catch her breath before taking her lips in a kiss. He clasped her neck in one hand and delved his tongue into her mouth, and she hungrily accepted his kiss and all the fragrance and flavour that he was passing from his lips to hers. 

Hawke reached for the laces of his leggings without breaking their kiss, and Fenris slid his hand up her thigh. She started untying his laces, and he slipped one finger inside of her, and she cried out into his mouth.

“Fuck – Fenris, I – I c-can’t concentrate,” she begged. She moaned and pressed her forehead against his shoulder as he curled his finger inside of her. 

He didn’t reply. He was too preoccupied to speak, preoccupied by her hands curling against his abs and the heavenly feel of her heat pressing around his finger. He started tugging his own laces to free himself, and all the while he continued to stroke his finger inside of her to coax her pleasure forth. 

Her gasping breaths ghosted across his neck as she pumped her hips toward his hand. As soon as his laces were partially undone, she shoved his hand away and burrowed her fingers into his leggings to cup his balls. 

A rush of sensation flooded his abdomen, and he choked out a gasp of pleasure and surprise. Then her fist was wrapped around his length, and her other hand was clasping the back of his neck, and Fenris moaned into her mouth as she kissed him hard.

Hawke stroked his cock, and he groaned and pressed his finger inside of her. A few rushed moments later, his leggings were hastily tossed aside, and he was kneeling behind her with his hands on her hips.

He leaned over her so his chest was flush to her back, then lowered his mouth to the tattoo curling across her skin. Her back was heated and damp against his chest, and her nipple was a perfect pearl between his fingers. The silken skin of her bottom was blissful against the throbbing eagerness between his legs, and he quickly arranged his cock to stroke her slick heat as he rocked against her from behind. 

He slowly slid his length along the threshold of her folds, and she cried out and dug her fingernails into his wrist. “Please,” she begged. She pressed her other palm firmly into the blanket and arched back toward his hips. “Fenris, please, I – I really need you…” 

He breathed hard as her slickness spread across his length. With another quick adjustment of his hand, he buried himself inside of her. 

She cried out and collapsed to her elbows on the soft fur blanket, but Fenris pleadingly stroked the length of her back. “Rise up, Hawke,” he rasped. “I want you near.” 

She gasped a few desperate breaths, then pushed herself partially upright again, and Fenris wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his forehead to her back and slowly pumped himself into her heated depths, and Hawke tightly clasped his bescarved wrist. Soon they were moving together in a slow and rolling grind, and Fenris blissfully closed his eyes. 

He breathed against her back, taking in her scents of sweat and sandalwood and salty sea air from the sodden Crestwood coast. The fire was a soothing warmth against the right side of his body and a flickering orange haze against his closed eyelids. He listened to Hawke’s voice, the helpless little sounds that left her lips with each slow pumping of his hips, and with every careful draw and thrust, he savoured the feel of her, the warmth and the tightness and the completion of their joining as she met him thrust for thrust. 

He inhaled deeply and pressed his teeth against her skin, and she gasped. “Fenris,” she whimpered. 

He lifted his lips from her back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” she said hastily. She tapped at his wrist and tugged his hand. “I just – I want – I want to turn around. I… can we–”

“Yes,” he panted. He pumped into her once more, dragging a gasp of pleasure from her throat, then pulled himself free and allowed her to slide away until she was facing him. He eagerly crawled toward her, and she pulled him close with a firm hand around his neck, and then he was pressing inside of her and groaning against her throat as she gasped in ecstasy. 

He stretched her hands above her head and thrust into her in a steady rhythm, and the moan that left her lips was more rapturous than before. She pressed her chest toward him, and his gaze dropped to her breasts. 

Without releasing her hands, he lowered his head and nuzzled her breast, then took the ripeness of her nipple in his mouth. Hawke cried out in rapture, and Fenris suckled her for a moment longer before lifting his mouth from her breast and thrusting into her hard.

“Fuck!” she cried. Her fingers tightened between his own. “Fuck, Fenris, _yes_ –” 

He slammed into her once more, then ground himself slowly inside of her, and she writhed shamelessly beneath him and spread her legs wider. “Oh please,” she begged, “please, please, I want you…” 

“Yes,” he gasped, and he gave her another hard pump of his hips. Soon they were fucking hard and slow, and he was grinding hard into her heat with every forceful thrust. He could feel the building of his own climax as her warmth and her enraptured voice drew him inexorably closer to the edge, and he pressed his gasping mouth against her neck and squeezed his eyes shut. 

The pleasure rose slowly as he circled his hips against the threshold of her heat, then surged forward as he fucked her hard, and with a few more long, forceful thrusts, the peak crashed over him with a blaze of buzzing and breathless heat. 

His guttural cry bled from his throat into Hawke’s fragrant skin, and he pressed his teeth into her neck once more, making her gasp with pleasure. Once the scintillating shivers of his climax had subsided, Fenris released her hands. 

She instantly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and slid her fingers through his hair. Fenris shuffled slightly lower between her legs, then relaxed completely into the pliant heat of her naked body. 

He pressed his cheek to her sternum. Her chest was rising and falling beneath his ear, and he could hear the busy beating of her heart. He gazed lazily at the flickering of the fire and revelled in this moment of total boneless relaxation. 

He eventually closed his eyes, and the softly crackling flames continued to dance behind his eyelids as he sank into the warmth of Hawke’s skin. Some time later, right as Fenris thought he might doze off, Hawke spoke in a quiet tone. 

“So… getting married,” she said quietly. “How do we want to go about this? Will we be having a wedding?”

He slowly opened his eyes. Her tone was wry, and Fenris knew that was she expecting his response to be a resounding ‘no’. In all fairness, that was absolutely what he wanted to say; he wanted nothing to do with the sorts of huge formal multi-day events that he’d seen in Tevinter, and he absolutely didn’t want their marriage to become some kind of political power play. 

But Fenris couldn’t make that decision alone. Hawke was far more sociable than he, and he wasn’t the only one whose opinion counted here. “Do you want a wedding?” he murmured.

Her fingers briefly went still in his hair, then resumed their gentle combing. “Well, it depends,” she said slowly. “Weddings can be fun, depending on who throws them. I haven’t been to a fun wedding in… oh, years, probably.” She gently pinched the pointed tip of his ear. “You, on the other hand, have never been a fan of the big fancy fêtes.”

“I am not, no,” he agreed. Then he sighed. “Josephine suggested making it… a political move,” he said grudgingly. “Inviting powerful nobles from across Thedas–”

“No,” Hawke said, to Fenris’s great relief. “No fucking way. That would be terrible. I would embarrass the Inquisition by getting in an argument with someone important, and you would just… you would hate it. No, we’re not doing that. Not a chance.”

He relaxed and closed his eyes once more. “Good,” he murmured. “No wedding, then.”

Her combing fingers went still for a moment. “Well,” she said carefully, “it doesn’t need to be a political thing. But a party might still be fun…” 

He opened his eyes, then lifted himself onto his elbows. “How many people are you thinking?” he asked. “I… Hawke, I really don’t want an enormous formal affair–”

“No, of course not,” she said reassuringly. “Just the Inquisition.”

He recoiled slightly, then narrowed his eyes. “Wha–? You mean the entire Inquisition, or just Cassandra and Blackwall and the others…?” He trailed off at her apologetic half-smile.

He wrinkled his nose and pushed himself upright, and Hawke sat up with him and stroked his back. “It might be a good idea,” she reasoned. “It’ll make everyone happy. There’s nothing like a party with a bunch of fancy food and drinks to get everyone’s morale up.”

Fenris scowled. Josephine had made a similar point. “But this is not just some common party,” he complained. “It’s _our_ wedding. I do not want to be put on display for everyone to stare and gawk. They do that enough already. And–” 

She stroked his cheek with her knuckles. “Fenris,” she said gently.

He shook his head and pulled her hand away from his cheek. “I might be the cursed leader of the Inquisition, but I am no pet to be posed and postured for their entertainment,” he snapped. 

“I know,” Hawke said quietly. “And it won’t be like that. It’ll be informal. We’ll have it at the Herald’s Rest.” 

Fenris’s scowl lessened slightly. “At the tavern? You… you can do that?” The only weddings he’d ever witnessed were extremely formal Tevinter affairs involving multiple days of ceremonies and so-called celebrations, all garnished with a truly astounding amount of posturing, usually for a couple who didn’t even wish to be wed.

“Of course we can,” Hawke scoffed. “It’s our wedding. We can do whatever we want.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows and thought this over quietly for a moment. Then he turned to face her. “I want the vows to be private,” he said. “No witnesses. Or… or only one or two. Varric and Carver, perhaps.”

A slow smile was growing across her face. “All right,” she said. “What else?”

He tilted his head pensively, then looked at her once more. “You will be barefoot. No heels. I know you hate them.”

Her smile widened, and she slid closer to him and draped her arms around his neck. “I like this wedding already,” she murmured. “What else? Will we exchange rings, or is that too much of a human thing?” 

He shrugged cluelessly. “I… hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “I have never worn a ring.” He glanced at his hands, bare as they were but for her red scarf and the lyrium tattoos that would forever line his skin. 

He looked at Hawke once more. “What do you think?”

She shrugged happily. “It’s up to you. I’m fine either way,” she said. “You could try buying a cheap ring from Bonnie Sims and wearing it for a week to see if you like it.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “A fine idea. I will do that when we return to Skyhold.” 

“Should we invite anyone from outside of the Inquisition?” Hawke said. “Aveline and Donnic, for example?” 

“Oh, of course,” Fenris said immediately. Hawke’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm now, and Fenris had to admit that this sort of party planning wasn’t completely awful. “We should invite Isabela too, if we can get a letter to her.” He shot her a tentative glance. “What about… er. What about Sebastian?” 

Hawke’s face fell slightly, and Fenris hastily backtracked. “If you would prefer not to invite him, it’s not necessary…” 

She waved her hand dismissively. “No no, we can – _you_ can invite him. He probably won’t come because he hates me now, but you can try.” Then it was her turn to give Fenris a cautious look. “What about Merrill? I don’t know if she would reply to a letter from me even if it got to her, but…”

She trailed off sadly, and Fenris dropped his eyes to his hands once more. He _really_ didn’t want to invite Merrill; he and that blasted blood mage would never see eye to eye, and things between them had ended so terribly that Fenris had genuinely feared that Hawke would leave him in the days following Merrill’s departure. But if Hawke was all right with him inviting Sebastian…

He nibbled the inside of his cheek, then nodded. “All right. Invite Merrill if you must.” He gave Hawke a forbidding look. “But do not even consider trying to find Anders–”

She surged toward him and kissed him, cutting off his warnings, and Fenris scrambled for balance as she straddled him once more. She cradled his face and enthusiastically kissed his cheek and his ear, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. 

“What is this for?” he asked. 

“I love you,” she blurted. “And we’re getting married.”

Her grin was broad and her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and Fenris smiled at her exuberance. “What happened to your claims that it is too late because it’s been so many years?” he drawled. 

“I was bluffing,” she announced. “I really want to marry you. A lot. Maybe we should elope right now.” 

He raised one eyebrow. “A tempting notion,” he said, then pretended to look around the Rusted Horn. “Is there a Chantry sister nearby who can officiate, or…?”

Hawke laughed brightly and stroked his neck. When he turned to face her again, her smile was tender. “I’m tied to you too, you know,” she whispered. “From the second you pulled your gross bloody fist out of that hunter’s chest, I was all yours.” 

He chuckled and ran his palm along her naked back. “That will always strike me as odd, and possibly alarming, but… I’ll accept it.”

“I mean it, Fenris,” she insisted. He met her eyes again, and they were serious and soft. 

Her fingers toyed with the hair at his nape. “I’m yours, forever and a day,” she told him. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

He studied the naked affection in her face, then pulled her closer and pressed his forehead to hers. “Never,” he whispered. 

She smiled and stroked his earlobe, and he lifted his chin to find her lips. The evening gradually deepened into night, and Fenris and Hawke moved together in a languorous tangle of limbs and lazy, breathless love. And bearing witness to it all was the fire: the benevolently flickering warmth of the fire in the hearth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if I’ve already mentioned it, but @schoute on Tumblr makes BEAUTIFUL FENRYNNE ART FOR ME for our regular fic/art trades. She most recently made two tarots: [a battle couple tarot,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184860777102/pikapeppa-fire-and-blood-fenris-and-rynne) and [a romance tarot.](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/184955684638/im-gonna-give-you-every-part-of-me-i-wanna-let) Feel free to have a peek at them, [follow Schoute on Tumblr](http://schoute.tumblr.com/) if you enjoy amazing art, and forgive me for having died and gone to heaven. X3 
> 
> Oh, also, I'm on staycation this week (YESSSS!!) so there might be extra chapters this week? Maybe? Possibly?
> 
> In the meantime, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	18. Peace

Fenris and Hawke led the others through Skyhold’s inner gates. He turned to Hawke and lowered his voice as they made their way toward the keep. “What are the chances that we can–” 

“– go upstairs for some horizontal exercise?” she suggested. She wiggled her eyebrows.

He smirked tiredly. “I was going to say, to take a nap.” 

She grinned, but before she could reply, Dorian’s loud voice called out from the top of the stairs. “Well, if it isn’t the Inquisitor himself, back from an undoubtedly delightful stroll through a place that was _not_ riddled with disgusting swamps and dead bodies.” 

Fenris sighed heavily, and Hawke laughed and patted his arm as Dorian traipsed down the stairs with Blackwall and the Iron Bull in tow. “Sorry, Fenris. No rest for the weary,” she said.

“Apparently not,” he grumbled. He gave Dorian a weary look as he and the others drew near. “What happened? Did you find those soldiers in the Fallow Mire?”

“Sure did,” Bull said. “Saved their asses from some weird Avvar tribesmen. One of their biggest warriors decided to join the Inquisition.” He idly scratched his muscular chest. “Mission went well, if you ask me.”

“I agree,” Blackwall said, with a dirty look at Dorian. 

Dorian scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

“Not _my_ point, no,” Dorian said. He lifted his chin imperiously. “I hope you looted a whole lot of bandits in Crestwood, because you owe me. I’m holding you personally responsible for the destruction of my finest boots and my best fire-retardant robe.”

Hawke snickered. “Ooh, someone didn’t enjoy his assigned adventure to the Fallow Mire,” she teased.

Dorian wrinkled his nose and flicked her arm. “You wouldn’t either. It was a vile place. What were Leliana’s scouts thinking? Who looks at a place like that on the map and thinks ‘oh, yes, a location entirely occupied by acidic marshland and death at every turn. Let’s go exploring there!’” He shivered dramatically. “ _Everything_ wanted to eat us. Mosquitoes, undead bodies, those vile tribesmen, the bog itself…” 

“The mosquitoes didn’t bother me,” Blackwall interjected. 

“They probably thought you were just a part of the bog,” Dorian said. He shot Blackwall a scathing glance. “Do you _ever_ bathe?” 

Blackwall scowled, but Bull chuckled. “Lucky for the tribesmen that they didn’t eat you, pretty boy,” he said. “I don’t think their stomachs could handle such rich meat.”

Dorian grimaced delicately. “I feel like there’s a compliment hidden in there somewhere. Somehow that only offends me further.” 

Fenris gave Dorian a flat look. “Dye your robes black like you said you would. That should hide ‘any number of sins’, if I remember correctly.”

Blackwall smiled and rubbed his nose, and Bull openly chuckled. Dorian shrugged casually and dropped his arms to his sides. “Maybe I will,” he retorted. “Then you and I can be matching, and we can brood handsomely together.”

Fenris glanced at his black travelling cloak. “Ah. I can’t have that,” he deadpanned. “Perhaps we will trade. You can start wearing black, and I will wear… whatever you call that vile fabric.” He eyed Dorian’s purple one-shouldered geometrically-patterned robes. “If memory serves, that pattern was fashionable in Tevinter over fifteen years ago.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped in amused shock, and she fanned herself. “Wow. Unexpected burn.”

Dorian only grinned, however. “You think to shame my clothing choices, my friend?” he said cheerfully to Fenris. “Don’t you realize that fashion is cyclical?”

Fenris grunted. “I suppose I forgot, what with all the cursed demons and the rifts.” He stepped around Dorian and made his way up the stairs.

Dorian and the others trailed after him. “You didn’t forget,” Dorian said. “You were just too busy staring at me.” He jauntily adjusted a lock of his perfectly-coiffed hair. “It’s all right, Fenris, I know I’m exquisite.”

Blackwall scoffed, and Hawke snickered, and Fenris just shook his head. “Dorian, is there something I can actually do for you? Because if not–”

“Oh, Fenris! I’m glad you’re back!” To Fenris’s surprise, Josephine was hurrying through the Great Hall toward them with her tablet and plume in hand.

He raised his eyebrows. “Josephine. Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, not at all!” She beamed at him. “Leliana received your raven about wanting to arrange a wedding. Even if it is just a private function for the Inquisition, I am so very pleased–”

“Oh my. What’s this, now?” Dorian interrupted with a grin. 

Fenris scowled at Dorian, but Josephine smiled. “It’s wonderful news,” she enthused. “Fenris and Lady Rynne are to be wed!” 

“Well well, how romantic,” Dorian said. He elbowed Hawke. “Our handsome leader will be making an honest woman of you, hmm?”

Hawke snickered and bumped him with her hip. “If Fenris makes me any more honest, then I’ll be telling you what _I_ think of your fashion choices.”

Dorian barked out a laugh. Blackwall, meanwhile, grinned and clapped Fenris on the shoulder. “Congratulations,” he exclaimed. “We could use something good to celebrate around here.”

“We sure can,” Bull said. “The hero getting the girl, big party, the dancing and the drinks: that’ll help distract everyone, get them all cheered up.” 

Fenris frowned. This kind of spin on his and Hawke’s marriage was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. 

Hawke took his hand. “We’re having a private ceremony, just for us,” she said to the other men. “There’ll be a party for everyone afterwards, though.” She squeezed Fenris’s hand encouragingly, and he met her reassuring amber eyes. 

Dorian shrugged carelessly. “Fair enough, as long as there’s a party. And drinks.” He waved expansively at Josephine. “Let there be alcohol! There will be alcohol at this thing, yes?”

“What a stupid question. Of course there will,” Hawke scoffed. She looped her hands through Josephine’s and Dorian’s elbows. “Now, Josie, we really need your help with arranging things – Dorian, since you claim to have such impeccable taste, you can help too…” To Fenris’s great relief, she began leading them away toward Josephine’s office. 

He sighed and turned to Blackwall, who was still smiling benevolently at him. “Warden Stroud mentioned that all the Grey Wardens in Orlais have been hearing the calling,” Fenris said. “You didn’t mention this. Have you been hearing anything unusual?”

Blackwall’s smile fell away, and he straightened. “I know what Corypheus is. He has no sway over me,” he said firmly.

Fenris studied him appraisingly for a moment. “I suspect that the Wardens are involved in something nefarious,” he said. He lowered his voice. “You have been loyal to the Inquisition since you joined us. When we go to the Western Approach–” 

“I stand with you, Your Worship. Fenris,” Blackwall interrupted. “My place is with the Inquisition. By your side is where I stand.” 

Fenris nodded. “You have my thanks.”

Blackwall bowed slightly. “And you have my sword and shield, for whatever they’re worth.” He straightened and nodded sharply. “I’ll return to training the men with Cullen’s officers. Let me know if you have need of anything else.”

Fenris watched thoughtfully as Blackwall strode away. Then he turned and looked up at Bull. “There was a high dragon in Crestwood,” he said. “We weren’t able to tackle it in the time we had. I will let you know when we go back to kill the creature.”

Bull grinned slowly. “Excellent,” he said. “Beautiful beasts, aren’t they? We’ll make ‘em ours, boss. You’ll see.”

Fenris nodded. Then, to his mild surprise, Mother Giselle approached him and bowed slightly. “Your Worship, if I may have a moment of your time…” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows at Bull, who shrugged and wandered away with a wave. Fenris turned to the Chantry sister. “Call me Fenris, please,” he said tiredly. “What do you need?”

“I have news regarding one of your… companions,” she said. “The mage from Tevinter.”

There was a certain coolness to her tone that was familiar to Fenris. He tilted his head curiously. “You are not fond of Dorian?” he asked. Then suddenly he realized something.

He leaned away from her slightly. “This is why you disliked _me_ when we first met. Because I am from Tevinter,” he said flatly. 

She bowed her head slightly. “ _You_ have proven your valour, Inquis– Fenris. That young man, however…” She straightened and looked Fenris in the eye. “In any case, my feelings are of no importance. I have been in contact with his family: House Pavus, out of Qarinus.” She blinked curiously. “Are you familiar with them?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. Had she forgotten his history, or was she simply being polite? “Yes, I am,” he said tersely. “Why would a southern Chantry sister contact a Tevinter magisterial family?”

“I didn’t contact them, Inquisitor,” she said calmly. “They contacted me. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid.” She handed Fenris the letter. “They’ve asked to arrange a meeting: quietly, without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come.” She demurely clasped her hands together. “Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped–”

“Why the secrecy?” Fenris demanded. “It could be a trap.”

“That did occur to me,” she admitted. “What if it is a plot of those mages – the Venatori?” She sighed and bowed slightly. “Another reason to put this in your hands. I pray that isn’t the case, but if it is, you are far better equipped than I to respond to such treachery.”

Fenris folded his arms. “I still don’t understand why they contacted _you_. If it is an innocent attempt to speak with Dorian, they should have written to him directly.” 

Giselle spread her hands slightly. “I am of the Chantry. Not of the Imperial Chantry, of course, but they understand what an Andrastian mother represents. They believe the young man would refuse, and the letter implies he would have cause. Yet they are remorseful for whatever came before.” She widened her eyes pleadingly at Fenris. “I know there is deceit in bringing the young man to this meeting without his foreknowledge. But does this not lead to greater kindness if there is potential for reconciliation?”

Fenris studied her shrewdly. For all her altruistic talk of reconciliation, Fenris could see the truth: she wouldn’t be displeased if Dorian left the Inquisition.

He pursed his lips. It didn’t escape his notice that he himself should have good reason to want Dorian gone, as well. Dorian was a Tevinter mage, after all, and one who clearly enjoyed his magic and the power it gave him. And yet…

Fenris unfolded his arms. “I will speak to Dorian. If this is a Venatori plot, I will kill them myself.”

Giselle’s expression tensed with worry, but she bowed to Fenris more deeply. “As you see fit, Inquisitor. I do believe they just want to talk; to understand why Dorian felt he had to come here.” She straightened and took a step back. “They wished to meet in the Redcliffe Village: away from Skyhold, but not in Tevinter.”

Fenris frowned. This only enhanced his suspicions that the magister was attempting to set them up. “Why away from Skyhold?” he asked.

“You make them nervous, I think,” she said. 

Fenris blinked in surprise, then scoffed bitterly. “They should be nervous,” he growled. Then he remembered his manners and nodded graciously to Giselle. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said. “I will deal with it.”

She nodded in farewell and floated away, and Fenris read the letter with a frown. Feeling slightly troubled now, he walked toward Josephine’s office to pull Dorian aside, but before he reached the door, Hawke came out. 

She smiled conspiratorially at Fenris as she closed the door behind her. “They’re thick as thieves in there,” she said. “I asked them to arrange basically everything. One million less things for us to deal with.” Then her smile faded slightly, and she squeezed his arm. “Are you all right?”

Fenris nodded. “I will need to speak to Dorian shortly. But we can let them work for now.” He tilted his head toward the stairs to the upper courtyard. “Let us speak with Cassandra about your idea for training the civilians in basic defense.”

“Oh, it wasn’t _my_ idea,” Hawke said as they left the Great Hall. “You made me think of it–”

“It was _your_ idea,” he repeated. “And it is a good one.” 

She smirked and shrugged. “Well, if you insist on telling me I’m a wonderful strategic genius, who am I to disagree?” 

Fenris smirked and pinched her waist, and she giggled and traipsed down the stairs. But when they made their way toward the usual training area where Cassandra could be found, she wasn’t there.

Fenris glanced around the courtyard. Sometimes she trained with Blackwall and Cullen’s men, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Hawke gestured toward the annex that served as the quartermaster’s outpost during the day and as sleeping quarters at night. “Maybe our lovely Lady Seeker is taking a nap?” she suggested. 

Fenris huffed. “She should be so lucky,” he drawled. He quietly pushed open the annex door. 

The quartermaster bowed to them as they entered, and Fenris nodded a greeting before looking around. Then he spotted Cassandra. 

She was sitting on a stool by the fire, completely engrossed in a book. She didn’t seem to notice as they made their approach, and Fenris subtly cleared his throat. “Cassan–”

She shot to her feet, and the book clattered from her lap to the floor. Cassandra snatched it up and clutched it to her chest, but not before Fenris saw the distinctive cover. 

His eyebrows leapt high in surprise, and Hawke gasped. “Cass! Are you reading _Swords and Shields?"_

“No!” Cassandra blurted. “Of course not! I’m – it’s…”

Hawke laughed. “Now now, don’t be embarrassed! You know Fenris came up with the title for that book?”

Cassandra turned to Fenris with alarmingly wide eyes. “You did?” she asked. Then she scowled and shook her head. “I mean… I – I am only reading it because there was nothing else to do…”

“She’s read it three times,” Cole said from behind Fenris. 

Fenris pursed his lips as Cole wandered over Cassandra’s side. After two weeks of travelling together, he was so accustomed to Cole’s inconvenient appearances that they didn’t even alarm him anymore. 

Cassandra glared at Cole with swiftly reddening cheeks. “You!” she snapped. “I told you to stop spying!”

Cole blinked. “You read it out loud to me,” he said, in a slightly hurt tone. He twisted his fingers together. “I don’t like the Captain, either.”

Cassandra tutted loudly. “I never did that!” she protested stridently. Too stridently. 

Hawke was beaming at Cassandra as though her wildest dreams had come true. Cassandra, on the other hand, was looking more and more uncomfortable with every passing moment. 

Fenris looked at Cole. “Go tell Hawke what your favourite part of the book was.” He gave Hawke a meaningful look. 

She chuckled. “Fine, fine,” she said cheerfully. She slung her arm around Cole’s neck and pulled him toward the annex doors. “Come on, Cole, why you don’t you tell me what you understood about that bit that took place in the empty office during the party scene…” 

Fenris waited until the annex door closed, then leaned against a nearby support beam and folded his arms. “What Hawke said is true. I did come up with that title.” 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and Fenris bit back a smirk. She nervously rubbed the cover of the book with her thumb, then she sighed and plopped down on the stool once more. “All right. I confess,” she said. “I enjoy this… smutty literature. You must know this one ends on a cliffhanger, and it was written so long ago…” She looked up, and Fenris raised his eyebrows at the hope in her face.

“You’re Varric’s friend,” she said excitedly. “You could ask him to finish it – command him to…!” 

Fenris raised one sardonic eyebrow. “It is my impression that death threats aren’t particularly conducive to a writer’s creativity,” he drawled.

“Death threats did not seem to harm him when I asked him about you and Hawke,” she muttered.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, and Cassandra sighed heavily and lowered her head in defeat. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I am being unfair. But…” She trailed off and shook her head, then glared at Fenris. “Pretend you don’t know this about me. And whatever you do, don’t tell Varric.” 

Fenris steadily returned her gaze. “Perhaps _you_ should tell Varric. I think he would be pleased. That’s his least successful book, you know.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “How?” she gasped. “It’s… all right, it is terrible. And _magnificent._ But…” She broke off and rubbed her nose, then looked at Fenris once more. “I am sorry, Fenris, I… you must have come here for a reason. Is there some way I can help?”

“No,” Fenris said. “It was nothing urgent, in any case.” This highly unexpected encounter was enlightening for more reasons than one. It certainly explained a lot – namely, the reason that Cassandra became so flustered and defensive every time that Varric’s books were mentioned. But it also made Fenris realize something rather comforting: that he and Hawke weren’t the only ones who wanted – or needed – a little bit of downtime from the Inquisition now and then. If even Cassandra was taking some leisure time to read, then perhaps it wasn’t so unusual for Fenris to crave some time alone with Hawke to simply relax and _be_. 

He stepped away from the support pillar. “Enjoy your book, Cassandra. For the fourth time.”

She shot him a suspicious look, then smirked and opened the book. “Very funny, Inquisitor.” 

Fenris chuckled at her retaliatory use of his title. Then he stepped out of the annex and back into the late afternoon sun. 

Hawke was leaning against the side of the annex with a grin on her face. She skipped toward him and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “This is incredible,” she chirped. “This is the best thing I’ve learned about anyone since we discovered that Bull wears thongs.”

Fenris winced at the reminder. Then he nodded his head toward the Great Hall. “Come. We’re going to tell Varric.”

If possible, Hawke’s face lit up even more. “Wait – seriously? _You’re_ gossiping? Who are you and what have you done with my Fenris?”

Fenris _tsk_ ed. “I am not gossiping. I don’t gossip,” he said primly. “We’re going to persuade Varric to write the sequel for her.”

Hawke barked out a laugh. “You must be fucking kidding. He swore he would never write a sequel. He refused even when Merrill begged him with puppy eyes. He refused puppy eyes!” Then she gave him a shrewd look. “He might partial to _your_ puppy eyes, though. I know I am.”

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “It is a strategic move. Cassandra and Varric have been at odds since the moment we’ve known her. If he gives her a new chapter of _Swords and Shields_...” He shrugged. “Perhaps she will finally forgive him. It is a simple team-building strategy.” 

Hawke smiled at him and didn’t respond. He raised an eyebrow at her. “What?”

She hugged his arm as they made their way up the stairs. “You want them to be friends. Admit it.”

Fenris grunted. “Whether they are friends is of no consequence. Whether they can work together, however…” 

Hawke patted his arm affectionately. “It’s all right, Fenris. I want them to kiss and make up, too.”

Fenris didn’t reply. Her words evoked a memory from the blighted future he’d seen in Redcliffe – perhaps the only bright thing about the entire experience: Cassandra and Varric’s unexpected warmth towards each other. 

He smiled slightly at the thought, then nodded a greeting to Varric, who was sitting at his usual letter-strewn table near the fire. 

“Hey, Fenris. Hawke,” he said affably. He tossed an unopened envelope into the fire. “Care for a game of wicked grace?”

Hawke picked up an envelope from his junk mail pile. “Actually–”

Fenris placed a hand on her wrist and looked at Varric. “I have something to tell you, and I’d like to request that you not gloat.”

A smirk instantly lit Varric’s face. “Oh. This is going to be good.”

Hawke laughed and tossed the envelope into the fireplace. “Oh, Varric, you have no idea.”

Fenris took a seat in one of Varric’s chairs. “Cassandra is waiting for the sequel to _Swords and Shields._ ”

Varric’s face went slack with surprise, then lifted into a grin. “I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said that Cassandra read my smuttiest novel.”

Hawke plopped down in a chair beside Fenris. “Not just once, either. Three times!” she crowed. “You have a huge fan.”

“It’s true,” Fenris said. “She’s very fond of your work.” 

Varric shook his head and chuckled. “If it’s a sequel she wants, she’ll be waiting for a while. You guys know I wasn’t planning to write a sequel to that garbage. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink.”

Fenris picked up a piece of Varric’s junk mail and idly picked at the envelope. “Consider it this way: after all that has… happened, it might be a way to get into her good graces.” 

“Huh,” Varric said shrewdly. “So this is an Inquisition-related bribe, then?”

Hawke sighed. “Wrong tack, Fenris. Try again.”

Fenris shot her an exasperated look, then turned to Varric once more. “You and Cassandra could be friends,” he said bluntly. “I am certain of it. But…” He trailed off as he tried to find a way to verbalize his thoughts without painting Cassandra in an unflattering light. Cassandra could be stubborn and defensive and downright hostile, it was true. But she was also willing to admit when she was wrong, if people were patient with her.

Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. “Pretend… pretend she is me,” he finally said. “But instead of wine and gambling, you can win her over with… smutty literature.” 

Hawke reached over and twined her fingers with his, and Fenris admired her smile. Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So you want me to start writing a sequel of the worst book I’ve ever written,” he said slowly. “For Cassandra.” He chuckled. “That’s such a terrible idea, I have to do it. On one condition: I get to be there when you give it to her.”

Fenris twisted his lips; Cassandra wasn’t going to like that. But Hawke squeezed his hand. “Oh come on, Fenris, let Varric come,” she pleaded. “Besides, it’ll give them a better chance to make up. Face-to-face apologies all around, maybe a hug and some tears…” 

Varric made a retching noise. “Andraste’s knickers, Hawke. _You_ should write the sequel with soppy ideas like that.”

Hawke laughed, and Fenris sighed. “All right, fine. You can be there. But no gloating,” he warned. 

Varric chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He picked up his plume and pulled over a fresh piece of parchment. “You know, the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile, somehow.”

Hawke rose from her chair. “Just because it sold poorly doesn’t mean it was bad,” she told him. 

Fenris pulled a little face. “It _is_ rather bad, though.” 

Hawke tutted and pinched his arm, and Varric snickered. “All right, all right, go on and leave me in peace, would you? I have serious work to do.” He dipped his plume in a bottle of ink and immediately started scribbling. 

Hawke smirked, then took Fenris’s hand. “What are you up to now?” she said quietly. “I was thinking we could have a nice dinner alone…” 

He squeezed her fingers. “That sounds ideal,” he replied. “But I need to speak to Dorian first. I will meet you in our chambers when I am done.”

“All right,” she said, and she sauntered away toward the door that led to the kitchens. Fenris, meanwhile, made his way through the door into Solas’s rotunda, intending to take the stairs up to the library where Dorian would surely be found. 

He glanced into the rotunda, then stopped short in shock. The previously-craggy stone walls were now a smoothly plastered eggshell-white, save for one large panel which was adorned with a vast and masterful mural. 

Fenris closed his mouth and took a silent step into the rotunda. Solas was on the scaffolding intently working on a second panel of the mural; his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and a row of paint-filled jars was neatly lined up at his feet as he worked on the enormous fresco with brisk, confident strokes. 

Solas and Cole had only returned to Skyhold one day before Fenris, Hawke, Varric and Cassandra. So that meant Solas had finished an entire mural in one single day? Fenris had no idea that Solas even knew how to paint.

He watched in silence for a while as Solas worked on the fresco, and it slowly dawned on him what the completed panel showed: the Breach, depicted as an ominous eye in the sky. 

“What is this?” he said. 

His voice echoed through the rotunda more loudly than he’d intended. He pressed his lips together as Solas turned around. The elven mage’s forehead was furrowed in concentration, but his expression cleared somewhat as he met Fenris’s eye. 

“Skyhold is your fortress. These are your actions,” he said simply. He turned back to the wall and continued to paint. 

Fenris didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure how to. He watched Solas paint for another minute before silently leaving the room and making his way up the stairs. 

Dorian was leaning against a bookshelf flipping through a tome. He smiled as Fenris approached and snapped the book shut. “Ah, if it isn’t the groom-to-be!” he said jauntily. “Naturally, you’ve come to me for advice on your wedding garb. You have a good physique for something fitted – not as good as mine, of course, but good enough. Now, I _can_ lend you something, but you’ll have to have it taken in, and you’re not allowed to insult my excellent taste–”

“Dorian,” Fenris interrupted. “You should look at this.” He pulled Giselle’s letter from his pocket.

Dorian’s eyebrows rose. “Ooh, a letter. Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Fenris snorted; he couldn’t help it. Dorian’s manner reminded him of Hawke at times. “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “It is from Tevinter. From your father.”

Dorian’s saucy grin instantly transformed into a neutral mask, and he pulled back his half-extended hand. “My father. I see,” he said. “And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?”

Fenris curiously studied Dorian’s uncharacteristically serious expression. “A meeting, or so it says,” he replied. “I am concerned that it is a Venatori plot.” He gestured again for Dorian to take the letter. 

Dorian hesitated, then snatched the letter from Fenris’s fingers. “Let me see this,” he muttered. He paced slowly back and forth as he read the letter, and Fenris watched as Dorian’s expression twisted into fury.

Finally he looked up at Fenris and angrily shook the letter. “‘I know my son’?” he spat. “What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble! This is so typical,” he raged. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.” He crumpled the letter, then shoved it into his pocket. “Reaching out to that blasted Mother Giselle... Maker knows why he thinks I would travel anywhere with _her_.”

Fenris folded his arms. “It is strange, I agree.” He jerked his chin at Dorian’s pocket. “So? Could it be a Venatori trap? Every magister is rotten with corruption, but just how corrupt is your father?” 

Dorian shot him a resentful look. “You know, after all we’ve done together, I would hope–”

“Dorian,” Fenris interrupted a bit more loudly. “I am not talking about you. I am talking about your family. Do you think the Venatori could be influencing them?”

Dorian pursed his lips, then exhaled sharply. “I can’t say for sure,” he admitted. “I would like to say my father would never be involved in something as nasty as the Venatori, but… I have learned the hard way not to underestimate what my father is capable of.”

His tone was extremely bitter, and Fenris eyed him speculatively. He knew that Dorian didn’t see eye to eye with his family, at the very least because of their attempts to marry him to a girl he didn’t know. But from the look on Dorian’s face, it was clear that the issues were far deeper than that. 

Fenris wasn’t particularly inclined to pick at the problem, however. As he’d told Hawke, he wasn’t one to gossip or pry. Furthermore, Hawke would be waiting for him in their chambers, and Fenris could openly admit that all he really wanted was to spend some quiet time with her.

He decided to stick to business. “I don’t think you should meet this alleged retainer in Redcliffe,” he said. “We should force them to come to Skyhold.”

Dorian looked at him in surprise, then smirked. “Did you hate the Hinterlands that much, then? I’ll admit, it is one enormously boring unending sprawl of land…”

Fenris shrugged. “I’ll admit I am not fond of the place, but that is not the point. Skyhold is safer. It’s manned by our soldiers and protected by… whatever ancient magic is in these walls.”

Dorian’s smile widened, and he huffed and turned away. “All of a sudden you care about my safety?” he said. “I’m not sure I know my place in the world if you aren’t snarling at me or banishing me to the bog.”

Fenris sighed in undisguised exasperation. “It is for all of our safety that this so-called family retainer comes to Skyhold,” he said. “But yes, Dorian, _you_ will be safer if they come here.” He was thinking of that terrible time when Varania had come to Kirkwall. Fenris had suspected a trap, and yet he’d agreed to Varania’s request to meet at the Hanged Man: a public place where Danarius’s men had been waiting to ambush him and Hawke, and where his shameful past was aired to everyone present. Perhaps if he had forced Varania to come to the mansion instead… 

He mentally shook off the thoughts. It didn’t matter now; the sordid matter was done, and his sister was off resenting him somewhere in Ferelden, if Cole was to be believed. But Dorian could at least benefit from Fenris’s mistakes. 

“You must keep a level head,” he advised. “If this is a trap – whether from the Venatori, or a personal one – we should stand against them on familiar ground.” 

Dorian’s smile slipped away as Fenris spoke. He dropped his eyes to his feet and inhaled slowly, then looked up and met Fenris’s eye once more. “You should write to them,” he said. “ _You_ tell them to come here. If he – if they agree to come here, knowing the dreaded Inquisitor himself invited them straight into the wolf’s maw–” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Do not call me ‘the wolf’,” he said, very quietly. 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Why not?” he said. “The Inquisition is like a pack of wolves, after all. Intelligent and deadly, and following the most intelligent and deadly of all. Well, after myself, of course.” He preened playfully. 

Fenris pursed his lips, then looked away. A moment later, he turned back to Dorian. “Fine. I will write to the cursed magister,” he growled. “But if he refuses to send his man to Skyhold, we are _not_ going to Redcliffe. I will not risk the threat.”

Dorian nodded. “That’s fair.” 

Fenris nodded as well, then turned away. But before he could reach the stairs, Dorian spoke once more. “Fenris,” he said. 

Fenris turned back to face him. Dorian’s expression was uncharacteristically serious. “Thank you,” he said. “For… for not keeping that letter a secret.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Keeping it a secret would serve no purpose. I wasn’t about to force you into something without your knowledge.”

Dorian gazed at him in silence for a moment, then made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh and rubbed his nose. “Yes, well. I’ll simply chalk it up to you being an intractable gossip.” He grinned at Fenris. “Shameful, really, the way you came running straight to me with a top-secret letter from dear Mother Giselle. I can just imagine her face when you said you were going to tell me. I’m surprised she didn’t keel over in shock at someone defying her oh-so-benevolent suggestions.”

Fenris eyed Dorian speculatively for another moment. He really did behave uncannily like Hawke at times. 

Fenris leaned against the banister and lifted his chin. “You understand why I sent you to the Fallow Mire with Blackwall and the others, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Dorian said. “To punish me for being so beautiful and well-dressed.” 

Fenris ignored his joke. “I sent you because you can be trusted,” he said bluntly. “Your judgment is reasonably clear.” He shrugged. “For a Tevinter mage.”

Dorian stared at him, and Fenris was alarmed to see tears welling in his eyes. He dropped Dorian’s gaze and frowned awkwardly at the floor.

Dorian laughed, then sniffled subtly. “Well, that’s better than most people here would give me, I suppose,” he drawled. “‘Reasonable for a Tevinter mage’. If I’m lucky, you’ll see me as just a regular mage someday. Perhaps even – Maker forbid – a person!”

Fenris scoffed and turned away. “I am leaving now,” he muttered. 

“I’ll miss you,” Dorian called out jokingly. “Don’t kill anyone without me.”

Fenris grunted and made his way down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he slowed and peered into the rotunda once more. 

Solas was on the ground now, and he was working his way through the bottom half of the mural. Fenris’s gaze was drawn to the figures that Solas had sketched at the bottom of the panel: the silhouettes of a pack of wolves. 

_The Inquisition,_ he thought. Depicted as a wolf pack, just as Dorian had said. 

He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment. Then he went to his private quarters to find Hawke. 

She was lounging on the bed, humming to herself and reading a book. She looked up with a smile as Fenris came up the stairs, then slid off of the bed and hurried over to the carpet in front of the merrily-lit fireplace.

A silver tray laden with food was waiting for them. Hawke sat on the carpet and patted the ground beside her. “Come on over, handsome,” she said. “Stay awhile.”

Fenris smiled at the warmth in her voice. He lowered himself to the ground with a groan, then stretched out flat on his back and folded one arm beneath his head. “A tempting invitation,” he said. “I am tempted to remain here for the rest of the night, in fact.”

“You should,” Hawke said. “It’s a nice lazy night. You can practically feel the laziness in the air. We should take advantage of it while we can.” She solicitously tucked a nearby cushion beneath his head, then plucked a grape from the tray and held it out inquiringly. 

Fenris smirked. “Are you to feed me grapes, then? Am I a spoiled noble now that we sleep in this opulent room?” 

She tutted playfully. “You could never be spoiled. But I _will_ feed you grapes, if you like. Then I can rub your feet, then your back, then other things…” She wiggled her eyebrows salaciously. 

Fenris chuckled, then opened his mouth to accept her offering. She popped the grape in his mouth, and he enjoyed the burst of sweetness as he bit into the crisp and juicy little fruit.

He chewed and swallowed with relish, and for a time he shamelessly allowed Hawke to feed him grapes and bread dipped in honey and small shreds of soft-stewed ram meat. She took a bite for every morsel she gave to him, and when the tray was empty, she stretched out beside him on her side and propped her cheek on her fist. 

Fenris smiled at her. Her spiky dark bangs were falling into her warm copper eyes, and Fenris gently brushed them away. “Come here,” he murmured. 

She smiled more broadly, then shifted so she was lounging on top of him with his thigh trapped between her legs. Fenris pulled her close with a gentle hand at her neck, and her smiling raspberry-red lips met his own. 

They kissed in a slow and leisurely way, soothed by the soft hiss and snap of the fire. Despite her suggestive jokes, Hawke’s kisses and her tender hands were affectionate without being provocative, and Fenris enjoyed the simplicity of her warm body and her touch without the expectation of anything more. 

He slowly ran his hand along the length of her back as they kissed, and her fingers toyed idly with his earlobe in a sweet caress. Hawke’s assessment of the mood tonight was correct; the evening was heavy with a certain kind of peaceful languor that had been lacking in Skyhold since the Inquisition had first occupied it. Fenris wasn’t sure why that was; the same problems they’d always had were still looming, with the threat of Corypheus and the gathering of the Wardens in the west and this upcoming blasted masquerade. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to feel worried tonight. 

It seemed like the others weren’t worried tonight, either. Fenris thought idly of Dorian and Cassandra reading, and Varric writing a new frivolous book. Then there was Solas with his painting, and Josephine happily preparing for a wedding instead of a war. On his way here, he’d spotted Blackwall working on a rocking griffon in the stables, and Cole playing fetch with Toby and a gaggle of small children.

Perhaps there _was_ time for these moments of peace, despite the storm that was roiling around them.

There was one matter he probably should attend to tonight, though. He leaned away from Hawke’s lush lips and sighed. “I need to write a letter to a magister,” he said. 

Hawke’s eyebrows jumped up on her forehead, and she barked out a little laugh of disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you just say you’re writing a letter to a magister? Will it be a death threat written in pig’s blood?”

He huffed. “Not quite. Dorian’s father supposedly wants to meet with him and persuade him to go back to the Imperium.”

Hawke’s smile faded, and she slowly sat upright. “Oh. Shit. He and his father do not get along.” 

“I am aware,” Fenris said. He adjusted the cushion beneath his head and closed his eyes.

They fell quiet for a moment. Then Hawke spoke in a guarded tone. “Has Dorian told you why he and his father don’t get along?”

“No,” Fenris said. “I didn’t ask.”

“Why?” Hawke said. “I think he’d tell you if you did. He’s pretty open about it.”

Fenris opened his eyes. “It is Dorian’s personal business. It has no bearing on the work we’re doing.”

Hawke stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

Fenris frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone here has personal shit that’s feeding the work we’re doing,” she exclaimed. “Including you. Including me! Besides,” she gave him a knowing look, “you can’t pretend your little friend-matchmaking with Cass and Varric isn’t personal. You want your friends to be friends, too.”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “There is no reason Cassandra and Varric can’t get along.”

Hawke lifted a skeptical eyebrow, and he sighed and rolled his eyes. “All right. I have a secret to tell you. But you can’t tell Varric or Cassandra.” 

Her eyes went wide, and she stretched out on her belly beside him. “Tell me!” she urged.

Fenris sighed again. Now he really was gossiping. “In that dark future I saw with Dorian, Cassandra and Varric were _very_ good friends.” 

She blinked in surprise. “Oh.” Then her eyes went impossibly wide once more. “ _Oh._ You mean…”

Her face was a picture of delight. Fenris shrugged. “I can’t say for certain from what we saw, but it is possible. There was a prolonged embrace...” 

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “That’s fantastic,” she whispered. “Maker’s balls. No wonder you’re trying to get them together!”

Fenris tutted loudly. “I’m not trying to – they _should_ get along for the Inquisition’s sake. _Hawke._ ” He pinched her waist in rebuke, but it only made her laugh even more. 

“Do not remind Dorian of this,” he threatened. “ _He_ is a gossip-monger. He will spread slanderous stories for the sake of entertainment.”

“All right, fine,” she giggled. She shifted closer to him and draped herself across his chest once more. “But you have to admit, it is kind of like being in Kirkwall now.”

He twisted a piece of her hair in his fingers. “It is right now, yes.” He wiggled his bare toes in front of the fire. 

“No, I mean with the people here,” she said softly. “They’re our friends now, Fenris. It’s not just work colleagues anymore.” 

Fenris exhaled slowly. “You have a very loose definition of friends,” he murmured. 

“I know, but _you_ don’t,” she replied. “And you know I’m right.”

He didn’t reply. He thought of Cassandra’s subtle humorous digs and of training with Blackwall, and Bull’s general affable nature. And then there was Dorian, with his flashy magic and his Hawke-like humorous mask… 

He closed his eyes. “They do seem to need something all the time. That is rather like our friends in Kirkwall.”

Hawke poked his belly. “You’re such a grump,” she whispered. 

He grunted and grabbed her hand. “Do not poke me,” he mumbled, and he playfully nibbled her knuckles. 

She chuckled softly, and they lay in front of the fire for a moment longer. Then Fenris sighed quietly. “Would you care for dessert?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” Hawke said. “They were making pie earlier, with those amazing apples from the garden. I still find it insane that those trees are producing fruit right now. It’s not even the right season for apples.”

Fenris hummed thoughtfully, then slowly sat upright as Hawke shifted off of his chest. “I will bring some pie,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead, then picked up the tray and made his way downstairs. 

He was halfway to the door to the kitchen when Varric waved him over. “I’ve got something for you,” he said. He handed Fenris a tidy sheaf of parchment: about twenty pages’ worth. 

Fenris put the tray on Varric’s table and glanced curiously at the neat writing on the top page. His eyes went wide with surprise. “The sequel to _Swords and Shields_? Already?”

Varric waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, it’s just the first chapter. I’ll have to pick away at it when I have the time. But if Cassandra is that much of a fan, she’ll be happy to read even this.” 

Fenris couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You have been waiting for an excuse, haven’t you?” he teased. “Any excuse to write more of this titillating series. Don’t try and deny it.”

Varric chuckled. “Think what you want. All I know is it’ll be worth it to see the look on the Seeker’s face when I hand this to her. Now where’s Hawke? She can’t miss this.”

“Did someone call me?” Hawke sidled up to them and looked up at Fenris. “I forgot I wanted tea,” she explained. Then she turned to Varric. “What’s happening?”

Fenris showed her the sheaf of parchment. She took one look, then clapped a hand over her mouth and hopped in excitement. “Oh fuck me, this is fantastic. All right, forget everything else, let’s go find Cassandra right now.” She practically ran for the stairs that led to the upper courtyard. 

Fenris thrust the parchment back at Varric, then darted after Hawke and grabbed her arm. “Hawke, be kind,” he warned. 

“What do you mean? I’m always kind!” she protested. “Well, most of the time.”

Fenris shot her a reproving look. “You know what I mean. Do not taunt her about this.”

She widened her eyes. “Fenris, have a little faith. I honestly think she should start a book club. There’s no way she’s the only fan of _Swords and Shields_ in this castle.”

Fenris continued to frown at her, and she blinked innocently back at him. Then Varric strolled past them with the chapter in his hands. “Come on, lovebirds, let’s go.”

They followed him toward the training area near the annex. Cassandra was training with one of the dummies, and as Varric and the others neared, she lowered her blunted sword.

She scowled at Varric. “What have you done now?” she demanded. 

Varric raised one placating hand. “I get it, Seeker. You’re still sore.”

Cassandra belligerently folded her arms. “I am not a child, Varric. Do not suggest I am without reason.”

Varric shrugged. “A peace offering, then.” He held out the chapter to her.

She scowled more deeply and took the parchment. Beside Fenris, Hawke was practically vibrating with excitement, and he surreptitiously reached out and took her wrist to calm her. 

Cassandra scanned the first page, and her scowl transformed into an expression of total joy. Then she forced her face back into a scowl and turned to Fenris. 

“This is your doing,” she accused. She glared at Hawke. “Both of you!”

Hawke held up her hands in protest. “I had nothing to do with it! I’m an innocent bystander for once!”

“It was me,” Fenris said bluntly. “ _I_ told him. I hoped you’d be pleased.” He waved at the parchment in her hands. “I skimmed the first page. It is… well, it’s something.”

Varric snorted. “Thanks for that, elf.”

Cassandra’s cheeks were turning steadily turning red. She ducked her head and continued to scowl, and Varric sighed playfully. “Well, if you’re not interested, you’re not interested. Still needs editing, anyhow.” He reached for the parchment in her hands.

“No!” Cassandra blurted. She hugged the parchment to her chest. 

Varric folded his arms. “You’re probably wondering what happened to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter.”

Cassandra hugged the parchment more tightly still. “Nothing should happen to her. She was falsely accused!”

“Well,” Varric said, “it turns out the guardsman –”

“Don’t _tell_ me!” she squawked.

Hawke made a stifled choking noise and turned away, and Fenris tried his best to quell his own grin. Then Varric waved at him. “This is the part where you thank Fenris. I don’t normally give sneak peeks, after all.”

Cassandra’s eyes were on the ground. She rubbed the parchment with her thumb, then finally lifted her face. “Thank you,” she said softly. 

She looked far happier than Fenris had ever seen. He jerked his chin at Varric. “You should thank Varric as well. I suspect his hand will be cramping in the morning.” 

Cassandra bit her lip, then nodded to Varric. “Thank you, Varric. Truly.”

Varric bowed to her with a little flourish. “I am but a servant to my loyal readers,” he said. 

Hawke snorted and slung her arm around his neck. “If _that’s_ true, then where’s my fourth sequel to _Hard in Hightown_? I’ve only been waiting for at least five years.” 

Varric chuckled. “Maybe you should get Fenris to sweet-talk me into it.” They began to wander back to the castle. 

Fenris smirked at their departing backs, then turned to Cassandra. “That was not so terrible, was it?” he said. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she retorted. 

Her cheeks were still red. Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Good,” he said. 

She lowered her arms and boldly lifted her chin. “Well, why should I be embarrassed? Romance is not the sole province of dithering ladies in frilly dresses. It is passion,” she insisted. “It is being swept away by the pursuit of an ideal. What is not to like about that?”

“Nothing,” Fenris said. “I agree with you, in fact.”

She stopped in surprise, and her shoulders loosened. “You do?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He leaned against a nearby tree. “Passion allows you to get things done. It’s the impetus that drives you from thinking to doing.” His eyes drifted to the slender curve of Hawke’s hips as she and Varric walked up the stairs.

For the first time in years, Fenris thought of the so-called book he himself had written in Kirkwall: the poorly-spelled, angst-filled journal he’d scrawled during the interminable years before he’d finally found the courage to tell Hawke how he felt. He’d loved Hawke for so long, and he’d allowed it to fester in the shadows of his overwhelming hate. During the eight-odd years he’d been in Kirkwall, he’d harboured that passion for Hawke, that same unbreakable thread of love that bound them together now, and he’d foolishly expended that passion on the pages of parchment that he’d shoved beneath his sagging mattress in Kirkwall until he’d finally handed them to her. 

It had taken Fenris many years, but he’d finally shared his passion with the one person who inspired it the most. In his mind, despite their disagreements and their differences, there was no one in this world who was more ideal for him than Rynne Hawke. 

He looked at Cassandra once more. “Passion pushes you through the paralysis of doubt,” he said quietly. “Continue to pursue your ideals, Cassandra. Your passion does you proud, and you should not be embarrassed for it.”

Cassandra smiled broadly at him, then looked down at the pages in her hands and nodded. “I… I will. Thank you, Fenris.” She gazed covetously at the pages for a moment, then lifted her chin once more. “You have been a good friend, despite our… rocky beginnings. I am grateful for that.”

Fenris hesitated, then nodded to her. “You have been, as well.” 

She smiled and took a step away. “I should return to training,” she said. She gestured to the rack of practice swords. “Would you care to train with me?”

She was holding Varric’s first chapter close to her chest. Fenris smiled faintly and shook his head. “Thank you, but no. You have important reading to do. Reports from Cullen and the like.” 

Her smile became a smirk. “That is true,” she said, and they waved farewell. 

As Fenris strolled back toward the stairs into the Great Hall, he surveyed the castle grounds. People were working, certainly – healers and gardeners and castle runners and all the crucial castle staff who kept Skyhold maintained and orderly. But there were just as many people lounging and relaxing: groups of soldiers playing cards and rolling dice, small children chasing each other while their parents chattered, and the sounds of lively talk and Maryden’s smooth singing drifting out of the tavern’s open door. 

Fenris smiled to himself as he made his way up the stairs. The residents of Skyhold were enjoying this rare moment of peace. And when Fenris returned to his chambers and the refuge of Hawke’s open arms, he would enjoy it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The angst-filled journal that Fenris is thinking about at the end of this chapter is part of my own canon for him and Rynne, inspired by the EXTREMELY PAINFUL rivalmance version of giving Fenris the book of Shartan in DA2. You can read about Fen’s angsty journal of love [here (part 1)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/39018200) and [here (part 2)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/39950604).  
> \- I’m not planning to write all the loyalty quests for all the companions – just the ones that are most relevant to Fenris and/or FenRynne as a couple.  
> \- I haven’t yet decided how to deal with the Sit In Judgment quests. Are you guys interested in reading what Fenris does during these quests...? I got a couple of prompts for them, but I don’t really want to devote whole chapters to them if they aren’t integral to either the plot- or character-development, so I was considering maybe doing some of them as a mini-series on Tumblr, or possibly as short interludes in this fic, similar to the smutty ones. Any thoughts? (No guarantees I’ll follow suggestions – I am a very willful writer LOL – but it would be helpful to get some feedback if anyone cares one way or the other!)
> 
> As always, you can [find me on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy!


	19. Answers

Cullen paced slowly behind his desk. “I believe Dagna has settled in well. Her contributions to the Inquisition have been remarkable,” he said. “I trust you have seen the weapons she crafted?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “They’re rather alarming. But I’ve seen no reason to doubt the arcanist’s work. Cole holds the dagger, and Cassandra will wield the sword.” He folded his arms. “I offered the staff to Hawke, but she’s chosen to stick with her usual staff.” What Hawke had really said was that the staff of Aidahn Allied looked ‘fucking disgusting’, but Fenris declined to share that with Cullen. 

Cullen’s eyebrows creased slightly. “You gave the dagger to that… to Cole? Is that not… dangerous?”

“No more dangerous than providing him with any other weapons,” Fenris reasoned. He shrugged. “I can’t deny his value on the battlefield. Enemies are unable to predict his actions.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cullen grumbled. 

Fenris twisted his lips wryly. He’d harboured the very same misgivings himself, after all. But after observing Cole’s behaviour during the trip to Crestwood and discussing the matter with Cassandra, Fenris was largely convinced of Cole’s benevolent intentions, even if he was not entirely convinced that Cole’s methods were sound. 

Cullen waved a dismissive hand. “More importantly than those weapons, Dagna has discovered a way to defend our people from the insidious effects of red lyrium.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “That’s excellent. Go on.”

“Dorian told us about the shards of red lyrium you collected in the dark future.” Cullen stroked his stubbled chin. “The ones that were safe to touch, or reasonably so?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “They had some sort of coating or wrapping on them.” 

Cullen nodded. “We shared that information with Dagna, and she came up with this.” He picked up a small box from his desk and handed it to Fenris. 

Fenris opened the box. Inside was a small red charm fixed into a delicate frame of what appeared to be silverite. 

“It is a scrap of red lyrium, enchanted to be inert and to… repel the effects of red lyrium, somehow,” Cullen explained. “I am not entirely sure how it works; Dagna could tell you more. In any case, wearing the charm effectively renders red lyrium no more dangerous than regular lyrium.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “So ingestion, injection, or prolonged contact…” 

“... will still be dangerous, yes,” Cullen confirmed. “But our people will no longer be at risk of madness by mere proximity. Dagna is in the course of making them en masse as we speak.”

Fenris studied the charm with undeniable relief. It would have an enormous impact on their ability to fight the red Templars. Furthermore, any lingering worries that Fenris had about Hawke getting infected could finally, at long last, be put to rest. 

He handed the box back to Cullen. “This is admirable work. I will give Dagna my thanks.”

Cullen took the box back with an unsmiling nod. “We have also discovered leads on Samson’s red lyrium supplies,” he said. “If we find their source, we can we can weaken the red Templars and Samson himself.”

“A solid notion,” Fenris said. “Where do we begin?”

“His caravans are being smuggled along trade roads,” Cullen replied. “Investigating them could lead to where it’s being mined.” He gave Fenris a warning look. “If you confront them, be wary. Anything connected to Samson will be well-guarded.” 

Fenris frowned thoughtfully. “There is something I have wondered about. Samson’s armour was liberally studded with red lyrium, from what I could see in Haven. Yet his judgment seemed unimpaired.”

“I know. And that is what worries me,” Cullen gritted. “He and Corypheus both seem to have… subverted its ill effects, somehow, despite prolonged contact with the vile stuff.” 

Fenris pursed his lips. “Perhaps they have an arcanist of their own.”

Cullen blew out a sharp breath. “Maker help us if there is another Dagna under Corypheus’s control.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows slightly. Cullen was always rather tense, but he seemed even more edgy than usual. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Other than the usual, of course.”

Cullen leaned his palms on the desk and bowed his head, and Fenris frowned more deeply. A moment later, Cullen straightened and met his eye. “As the leader of the Inquisition, there is something you should know,” he said slowly. “I… as you know, lyrium grants Templars our abilities. But… it controls us, as well.”

“The Chantry used it to control you, you mean,” Fenris said. 

“Precisely,” Cullen said. He folded his arms and turned toward the window. “We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I… no longer take it.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “A bold decision,” he said cautiously. But an undeniably risky one as well, if Fenris’s readings about lyrium addiction were anything to go by. 

Cullen nodded. “I stopped when I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.” His gaze drifted over an engraved wooden case on his desk. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” He trailed off, then turned and met Fenris’s eye once more. “You were there. You saw what Meredith did – what she was making our people do. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer.” He dragged a hand through his wavy hair. “Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “What are you proposing?” 

Cullen blew out another breath. “I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

Fenris studied the Commander in thoughtful silence for a moment. “You are in pain,” he said. “The lyrium is gone from your blood, but the effects linger still.”

Cullen eyed him in surprise. “I… yes. That… that is true. But I can endure it.”

Fenris nodded slowly. He’d read a book or two about modern medicine and magical healing, and from what he understood, lyrium withdrawal was a painful process: it could result in aches and searing muscles pains, madness, or even death. 

Fenris remembered his shock when he’d first read those books. The painful effects of lyrium withdrawal sounded not unlike Fenris’s own experiences for the first few months after receiving the marks on his skin. It had taken more than a year before he could tolerate more than a gentle touch – not that his discomfort had stopped Danarius’s unwelcome hands. Now, years later, the marks didn’t cause Fenris pain anymore, but their activation was still uncomfortable – like a faint pins-and-needles sensation just beneath his skin. In fact, the feeling was similar to the anchor on his left palm. 

_I should ask Solas about that,_ he thought for the umpteenth time. He truly had been intending to speak with Solas about his lyrium marks and the uncanny similarity of his and Cole’s movements in battle, but since returning from Crestwood two days ago, he’d always found himself otherwise occupied. 

He pushed the thought aside for now and looked at Cullen. “Try meditative exercises,” he said. “Focused breathing. Focused only on your breath, that is. I have found… it can be helpful if done regularly.” 

Cullen’s eyes darted to the tattoos on Fenris’s chin and neck. “Do you… I – that is, have you…?”

“Something similar, I believe,” Fenris said quietly. “Not precisely the same, but… similar enough.” 

Cullen’s eyebrows rose, and he swallowed hard. “That is a good idea,” he said softly. “We… Meditation is a major part of Templar training, in fact. It has been years since I practiced it. I… it would be good to return to it in a… different setting.” 

Fenris nodded. “Good.” He took a small step back. “Is there any other news?”

“Not at present, no,” Cullen said. He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate the advice.” 

Fenris nodded again and turned toward the exit. But before he left Cullen’s office, he glanced at the Commander once more. 

Cullen was sitting in his chair and poring over the reports on his desk with a frown on his face. Now that Fenris thought of it, Cullen was probably the only person in the Inquisition that he hadn’t seen taking some sort of leisure time since he and Hawke had returned from Crestwood. Well, Cullen and Leliana, perhaps. 

Fenris thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the door for a moment. “Cullen.” 

Cullen looked up. “Yes?”

“Dorian told me that you play chess,” Fenris said.

Cullen scoffed. “That mage beat me one time and has never let me forget it,” he muttered.

Fenris almost laughed, but he forced his face to remain neutral. “I challenge you to a game sometime. If you can find the time.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose, and he smirked. “A challenge, you say?” He leaned back in his chair. “You’re on.”

Fenris smirked as well and leaned against the doorjamb. “You seem reasonably confident. Are you a betting man?”

Cullen’s smirk broadened, and he chuckled. “Not with you. Your soon-to-be brother-in-law told me that you cheat.”

“My soon-to-be brother-in-law should check his facts,” Fenris drawled. He pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I only cheat for the benefit of my soon-to-be wife.” 

Cullen laughed again. Fenris left his office, then made his way along the battlements. He really should speak to Solas now; there was no excuse, and he was on his way there anyway, but Fenris couldn’t help but drag his feet just a little as he approached the rotunda. 

Solas was standing at his desk poring over a very thick tome. He looked up with a distracted frown as Fenris entered the room. “Fenris,” he said. “How can I help?”

“I wanted to ask about Cole’s abilities,” Fenris said. “And… mine, I suppose,” he added reluctantly.

Solas’s frown cleared. “Certainly,” he said. “I am happy to answer.”

Fenris shifted his weight to one hip and folded his arms. “How does Cole move the way he does? Melting out of sight and reappearing an instant later?” 

Predictably and annoyingly, Cole suddenly appeared beside Solas. “I want to move, so I do,” he said.

_Not particularly helpful,_ Fenris thought. He looked at Cole. “Are you entering the Fade when you move like that?”

Cole shifted his weight dreamily from foot to foot. “Shifting, sliding, skimming on the edge. It’s softer there. Quick and unexpected, like slipping on ice, but on purpose.”

“Is that a yes or no?” Fenris demanded.

Solas smiled faintly. “It is not as simple as yes or no,” he said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Do you recall when I asked _you_ about your movements on the battlefield? The explanation you gave to me?”

“That is why I am asking you this,” Fenris said, with a hint of impatience. “Cassandra… we noticed that the way Cole and I phase across the field of battle is similar. I have never known anyone else who can do what I do, but… Cole obviously does not have lyrium marks. And I am obviously not a spirit.” He waved between himself and Cole. “What is the connection?” 

Solas eyed him for a moment longer, then clasped his hands behind his back. “I believe what Cole is saying is that he is not quite moving into the Fade, but grazing its very threshold. He is taking advantage of the unique properties of the Veil to move from place to place without being seen.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “So he is moving undetected by touching the Fade, but not entering it,” he said carefully.

Solas smiled. “That is a good approximation. And it does not sound dissimilar to what you do, yourself.”

“How can he – how are we able to move instantaneously?” Fenris asked.

“You must remember, time is subjective in the Fade,” Solas explained. “It does not march past us moment by moment as it does in this world. In the Fade, time moves in ebbs and flows. That is why dreams can often seem both interminably long and agonizingly short at once. It is why you can close your eyes for an instant and feel like you have slept for a month.”

His expression was more animated and enthusiastic than Fenris had seen in some time. Fenris grunted and folded his arms. “I see. But what relevance does that have to these marks on my skin?” He gestured at himself. 

Solas’s smile faded. “Well, Cole is a spirit, and as such, he has a natural connection to the Fade.” He idly traced a finger along the edge of his tome, then carefully closed it. “The use of lyrium is another means of accessing the Fade.” 

“But only for mages,” Fenris said. “Their natural access to the Fade is exploited through the use of lyrium.”

“Yes,” Solas said. “That is true.”

Fenris frowned at Solas’s neutral tone. “But I am no mage,” he said slowly.

Solas looked at him and didn’t reply. 

A chill trickled down Fenris’s spine. The implication in Solas’s words, and now in his silence… 

Fenris’s heart jammed itself into his throat. He was suddenly remembering something that Cole had said on the way to Crestwood: that Varania was jealous because Fenris was ‘mired in magic’. Fenris had thought Cole meant the lyrium marks on his skin, but perhaps he’d meant something different altogether.

Then he remembered something else: the unnerving fact that he could feel the particular qualities of a mage’s barriers, but Cassandra and Varric could not. The strange revelation had been abandoned in the urgent rush when Haven fell, but now that Fenris was thinking about it again...

There was a buzzing in his ears. The ugly implication was looming closer, more threatening and terror-inducing than the avalanche that had nearly swept him away in Haven. 

He glared at Solas. “I am not a mage.” 

Solas nodded once. “You are not a mage, no. Not anymore.” 

Fenris stopped breathing. Solas held up a hand. “Fenris, be calm–” 

Fenris stepped away from him and bumped into Cole. “It’s all right,” Cole said gently. “Quiet, kept, controlled in your skin. You can use it to hurt, but it can’t hurt you.” 

He spun on Cole. “Did you know this all along?” he snarled. “You… you knew this and you didn’t tell me?”

Cole rubbed his hands together anxiously. “It would hurt you. It is hurting you now.” He looked askance at Solas. 

Solas shook his head. “Fenris needs to understand this, Cole. It is better that he know the truth.”

“What truth?” Fenris snapped. “Tell me exactly what you mean.” 

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “It is my belief that you were once a mage, and one of considerable power,” he said quietly. “But in the process of receiving those unique markings, you were stripped of your magic, not unlike what is done to a Tranquil. Unlike a Tranquil, however, your magic was channelled into the lyrium marks that are branded in your skin.”

“Why?” Fenris croaked. “Why…” He trailed off and didn’t finish the question; he already knew the answer. 

Solas verbalized his thoughts anyway. “Control,” he said, softly and succinctly. “The lyrium marks, and the resultant loss of memory, gave your former master an extremely effective means of controlling you.” He sighed and bowed his head. “I am truly sorry, Fenris. I can only imagine what you are feeling right now.”

Fenris dragged in a breath and rubbed his mouth with a shaking hand. He took another step away from Solas and Cole. 

“You’re the same,” Cole said reassuringly. “It was a seed, sleeping and silent, and you didn’t know. It doesn’t need to grow if you don’t want it to. It can stay a seed.”

“That is Fenris’s choice, Cole,” Solas said quietly. “Either way, he deserved to know.” He looked at Fenris once more. “Knowledge is power,” he said quietly. “You have shown yourself capable of handling both.”

Cole took a step toward him, and Fenris held up a hand. “Don’t,” he hissed. “Leave me be. I don’t need your _help._ ” 

Cole ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he disappeared. 

Fenris turned away and ran a hand through his hair. Then Solas spoke in a very soft, calm voice. “I know this is not what you wanted to hear. But with understanding comes control.”

Fenris glared at him. “I have control already,” he retorted.

Solas tilted his head slightly. “Then why did you ask about Cole? About the markings on your skin?”

“I... wanted to know,” Fenris rasped. “I wanted answers. For all the good that has done me,” he added bitterly.

To his surprise, Solas smiled. “Good,” he said softly. “Curiosity. A thirst for knowledge.” He clasped his hands behind his back once more. “Always an admirable trait.”

Fenris scoffed in disgust and turned away. Then Solas spoke again, and his voice was closer. “You are angry now. But when you have had time to think, you may have more questions, and I would be happy to talk some more.”

“No,” Fenris said. He stepped away from Solas. “No more talking. I… have had enough of talking. I–” 

“Hello, Fenris.” He jumped as Leliana’s voice drifted into the rotunda, followed by the spymaster herself as she descended the stairs. “Josephine and I have been looking for you. Do you have a moment?”

He took a deep, calming breath. “Yes,” he said. At this point, he would take any excuse to escape this conversation. Without saying goodbye to Solas, he followed Leliana out of the rotunda and into the Great Hall. 

Hawke was standing with Carver at the end of the hall, near the Inquisitor’s throne. To Fenris’s surprise, Leliana gestured to the Hawke siblings. “Wait with Hawke and Carver for a moment, please?” she said. “I will fetch Josie from her office.” She wafted away. 

Fenris numbly drifted toward Hawke and tried to hide the agitation that was roiling in his chest. Carver was talking, and Hawke looked as though she had something bitter in her mouth and was trying her best to hide it. As Fenris approached them and heard Carver’s topic of conversation, he instantly understood why Hawke looked so uncomfortable.

“... the ones that pass the Harrowing, you know?” he was saying. “It’s something to celebrate. Some of the nicest parties we had at the Circle were after a successful Harrowing. Nice for the mages _and_ the Templars, I mean. At least I think so. We didn’t really talk to the mages, of course, because we weren’t allowed, but–” 

“Fenris!” Hawke blurted. She perked up as he drew near, but her expression instantly fell into dismay when she caught sight of his face. “What’s wr–”

He shook his head sharply. He couldn’t talk about it now, not with Carver present, and not in public like this. 

He ignored her worried expression and turned to Carver. “I hear you’ve given me a reputation for cheating,” he said. 

Carver’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise. “What?” he said blankly. Then his face lit with comprehension. “Oh, you mean to Cullen?” 

“Yes, to Cullen,” Fenris said. “He refuses to place bets on a chess game with me.”

Carver smiled, then folded his arms. “It’s for your own good, really. Commander Cullen was the best chess strategist in the Kirkwall Circle.”

Hawke scoffed. “Chess? Really? I bet those parties in the Circle were a real fun time.”

Carver scowled. Then Josephine and Leliana appeared. 

Leliana was holding a lute, of all things, and Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Is this a wedding-related matter?” he asked. 

Hawke smirked. “No,” she said. “It’s worse.”

Fenris shot her a quizzical look, but Josephine spoke next. “Fenris, can you dance?”

He turned and stared at her. “What?” 

Leliana stepped in. “Empress Celene’s masquerade is in two weeks,” she said. “It will be very important to get the approval of the court if we wish to influence events to our advantage.”

Fenris folded his arms and eyed her shrewdly. “I thought the point of this charade was to prevent an assassination and stop a madman from taking over Orlais,” he said.

“Of course it is,” Josephine said. “But if we do not present ourselves well, our hands will be tied. We will be unable to move freely through the ball to ensure that we have all the information we need to stop the conspirators.”

Fenris sighed and rubbed his face. Well, he’d wanted a distraction, and this was very distracting indeed. “So you’re saying that in order to stop an assassination, you need me to learn to dance,” he said flatly. 

Hawke patted his arm sympathetically. “I told them you don’t dance, but they wouldn’t hear it.”

“Dancing is crucial at a formal function such as this,” Josephine insisted. “The dances are so much more than just that. They are opportunities for conversation, for listening in to secrets–” 

“– and for observing even the subtlest hints of behaviour,” Leliana put in. “The position of a lady’s hand on a gentleman’s shoulder can tell you the nature of their relationship. The way a lord bows at the end of a dance can tell you the state of his family’s fortune.”

Fenris curled his lip and looked at Hawke. “I am going to hate this cursed function, aren’t I?”

“Yup,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “But I’ll be right there with you.”

“Actually, Hawke,” Leliana said, “we were rather hoping you would–”

“Hawke goes with me,” Fenris said roughly. “We go together, or not at all.”

Leliana bowed her head slightly. “I was simply going to suggest that Hawke remain in the public areas while you do any… investigations that may be necessary. She is a celebrity, after all, and a notorious one at that. Drawing attention to herself may actually divert attention from your absence. If your absence is necessary, of course.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her. He was getting the impression that this ‘masquerade’ was going to be far more than just a formal ball. 

He glanced at Hawke, and she shrugged affably. “If my loud mouth and glittering personality can be of use, then I’m happy to help,” she said to Leliana. 

“Wonderful,” Josephine said. She turned to Fenris in a businesslike manner. “Now there is only the matter of your dancing prowess, so to speak. Since your experience is… limited,” she said delicately, “we decided that some lessons are in order.”

Fenris frowned. “Lessons?” 

“Yes,” Josephine said. “Leliana will play the lute, and I will demonstrate with Ser Carver.”

Hawke smiled at Fenris. “I have no helpful role. I’m just here for the show.”

Then Carver cleared his throat. “It’s… you can call me Carver, Josie. I mean – Josephine.”

Fenris glanced at him. His neck was turning a telltale pink.

Josephine smiled and nodded. “Of course. And you may call me Josie, if you prefer.”

Carver’s neck went red, and Hawke bit her lips. Fenris, meanwhile, scowled at Josephine and folded his arms. “And just where were you planning to conduct these lessons?”

“Here in the Great Hall, of course,” she said. “It’s the perfect–”

“No,” Fenris said flatly. “Absolutely not. We will go somewhere more private.”

Josephine looked askance at Leliana, who shrugged and folded her hands behind her back. “We could use the stables,” she said. “Or perhaps the annex, if we ask the quartermaster to leave…”

“Or our chambers,” Hawke piped in. “Right, Fenris? They’re big enough.”

Fenris pursed his lips. He didn’t particularly want all these people in the bedroom he shared with Hawke, but she wasn’t wrong; it was the most private alternative. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Upstairs, then.”

Some time later, Fenris and Hawke were sitting on the couch in their bedroom while Leliana played the lute and Carver and Josephine danced. Fenris was studying Carver’s posture and movements carefully; truly he was. But he also couldn’t ignore the goofy smile on Carver’s face as he turned Josephine on the floor with only the occasional misstep. 

Leliana’s song eventually drew to a close, and Carver and Josephine stopped in a graceful pose. They broke apart, and Josephine curtsied to Carver, who bowed slightly awkwardly in return. 

Josephine turned to Fenris with a smile. “That was a basic waltz,” she said. “It’s the most crucial type of dance, and the most common.” She held out her hand. “If you would, Fenris, I suggest you practice with me, to learn the motions.”

Fenris studied her hand with sudden wariness. Somehow in all the watching, it hadn’t occurred to him that _he_ would have to touch Josephine. Or any other number of strange women at this formal function, for that matter. 

Hawke, as always, immediately understood his discomfort. “Maybe I can practice with Fenris, Josephine,” she said hurriedly. “I’m a fair dancer myself.” She started to rise from the couch, but Fenris took her arm. 

He turned toward her. “Hawke, it’s all right,” he whispered. “I… I need to practice this if I am to do it in public. I might as well start with Josephine.”

“Are you sure?” she murmured. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Her expression was worried, and he knew she was thinking not just about this, but about his obvious upset from earlier. 

_You’re not a mage. Not anymore._ Solas’s unintentionally damning words rang in his ears, and he swallowed an inconvenient surge of distress. 

“It’s all right,” he repeated. Then he released her arm and stood up. “Josephine, if I may have this dance,” he said.

Her face lit up, and she clapped. “Oh, Fenris, that was perfectly polite! Yes, of course.” She curtsied deeply. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stepped toward her and gingerly placed one hand at the center of her back just below her shoulder blades, then – with no small amount of reluctance – he took her hand in his. 

“A more confident grip, please,” Leliana called out. “I can see your hesitation.”

Fenris scowled slightly and adjusted his hands. Then he began to turn Josephine to the music in his best possible imitation of what Carver had done. 

He soon realized that he was better off if he _didn’t_ think about what his feet were doing, and if he just listened and moved to the reliable rhythm of the music instead. He focused on the lilting notes of Leliana’s lute as he and Josephine moved around the floor, and by the time his discomfort was finally starting to ebb, the song was over. 

He quickly released Josephine and bowed, then looked at Hawke. 

Her mouth was open. She snapped it shut when he looked at her. “Wow,” she said. 

“Indeed,” Leliana said. Her voice was rounded with satisfaction as she put the lute aside. “It appears that we have a natural dancer on our hands.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I should be pleased that this was not too terrible.”

“You were fucking gorgeous,” Hawke said. She was grinning now. “How have you been holding back on me all this time?”

Fenris shot her an exasperated look as Josephine clapped her hands. “You really did very well!” she said. Her face was brilliant with happiness. “Oh, this is wonderful. This will be easier than I expected. If you don’t mind, Fenris, we should try another dance, learn as many as you can before you must leave for Halamshiral–” 

“Not today,” Fenris interrupted firmly. “I… I will practice this dance with Hawke. But I cannot learn another right now.” 

Josephine nodded. “I understand. Practicing will be a great help, nonetheless. We will speak with you later.” She nodded and smiled at Carver as well. “And thank you, Carver, for your assistance.” 

“You’re – of course, no – happy to help,” he stammered. 

Josephine’s smile widened, and she and Leliana left.

Hawke rose from the couch and sauntered over to her brother. “So, Carv…”

He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

She lifted her hands innocently. “I’m not starting anything! I’m just saying, Josie is lovely–”

Carver glared at her. “Rynne, just shut it, all right? Just because _you_ flirt with anything on two legs doesn’t mean _I_ can do it. You bugging me about every girl I look at isn’t going to make it any easier for me to make a move.” Then his face went red. “Not that I want to make a move on… because I don’t,” he said defensively. “She’s just… nice, that’s all.”

“Yes, she is,” Hawke said seriously. “Josie _is_ nice. She’s smart and gorgeous and sweet as fucking honey. She’s like a storybook princess. She could stand to be swept off her feet by the perfect gentleman.” She gave him a pointed and serious look. “She would be lucky to be swept off her feet by a nice boy like you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. That wasn’t what he’d expected. From the fading scowl on Carver’s face, it wasn’t what he’d expected either. 

Carver dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Rynne.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said. Then she pinched his cheek. “Now get out of here. Fenris and I need to practice dancing, and you’re being a gooseberry.”

Carver tutted and rolled his eyes, then nodded farewell to Fenris. “You did great,” he said. Then he left their chambers as well. 

Fenris looked at Hawke. “Impressive,” he said. “A compliment to your brother without a backhanded–”

“Fenris,” she said. Her expression was completely serious. “Tell me what happened earlier. You looked absolutely haunted.”

He stared at her, then dropped all pretense of normalcy. He sank onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. 

The couch shifted as she sat beside him. She wrapped one arm around him and tugged gently at his wrist. “Fenris, speak to me,” she pleaded. “Don’t do that thing where you bottle it up. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He drew a deep breath as the conversation with Solas and Cole came crashing back in. He dragged his hands over his face, then looked at Hawke. “I was speaking with Solas and Cole,” he told her. “They – Solas said…” 

He took another deep, shuddering breath. “He said I was a mage, Hawke,” he rasped. “Before Danarius branded me with these marks. He… he said I was a mage.”

His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard and covered his face with one shaking hand. Then Hawke’s arms were around him, pulling him toward her, and he pressed his face against her neck. 

Her palm was warm as it cradled his cheek. She pressed her lips to his ear. “I’m sorry, Fenris,” she whispered. “I… I’m just… so sorry.”

He gripped her wrist and breathed hard against her neck. He felt betrayed somehow, betrayed by his own body: this body that felt like it belonged to a stranger for so long. From the moment he’d woken in an agonizing haze with these cursed marks on his skin, he’d felt like he was living in a disconnected vessel – a painful, ruined vessel that carried his damaged mind. It had taken years for Fenris to feel like he belonged in his own skin, years that he primarily attributed to Hawke’s patient and caring touch. But now, to know his body had naturally carried that force that he so abhorred? That he was once the very type of person that he’d hated for so long?

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut to ward back the burn of tears. Then something odd occurred to him. 

He pulled away from Hawke’s embrace. “You… you don’t seem surprised about this,” he said. 

Her expression was sad and slightly apologetic, and it sent a fresh thump of anxiety through his chest. “I suspected this might be the case,” she said gently. 

“You did?” he said sharply. His heart was starting to race. “Since when?”

“Since that conversation we had about the barriers, back in Haven,” she said. “I wasn’t sure, but–”

“Did you talk to Solas about this?” he demanded. His heart was thumping in his ears now, and his sense of betrayal was twisting, turning its focus from himself to her. 

“Of course not. You know I would never do that,” Hawke said. 

Her expression was becoming cautious now, but Fenris didn’t care. He shoved himself up from the couch and began to pace. “Who else has been thinking this?” he snapped. “Dorian? Fiona? The blasted mages in that tower of yours? Have you all been sitting there, sneering at me behind my back for my hypocrisy–” 

“No,” Hawke said loudly. She rose from the couch. “If anyone else has been hypothesizing about this, I haven’t heard it.” She folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. “Besides, the mages have all been a little busy studying rift magic and demons and, you know, ways to avoid possession.” She tapped her chin. “There’s an Orlesian apprentice who’s trying to develop a quick-bake macaron recipe with magic, but that’s neither here nor there.” 

Her tone was heavy with humour. Fenris spun on her, ready to shout that he wasn’t in the mood for her blasted jokes, but something stopped him. 

Her lips were lifted in a smile, but her expression was worried and a little bit hurt. The pained smile on her face, the teasing humour in her voice, his own overwhelming rage… there was a sense of deja-vu to this, a throwback to the past before they’d really known each other – back when Hawke’s only way of coping with him was to make incessant jokes, and Fenris’s only way of coping with _anything_ was to rage and rant at the one person who would always forgive him. 

But this wasn’t the past. They weren’t those people anymore. They knew each other intimately now, and Fenris knew better than to release the wrathful words that were writhing on his tongue. He may have failed and lashed out at her during that blasted fight with Merrill two years ago, but Fenris couldn't make that same mistake again.

He turned away and rubbed his mouth. The silence was deafening and heavy, but Fenris couldn’t fill it, not until he found words to say that wouldn’t hurt her.

She slowly stepped around in front of him. “Nobody thinks you’re a hypocrite, Fenris,” she said quietly. “Nobody _would_ think that. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But I did,” he blurted. “I… Varania said so. She said I competed for these marks. I wanted them!” He gestured angrily to his arms. “I wanted to be marked this way. So I must have known what I was.” 

“Varania also said you competed for those marks to set her and your mother free,” Hawke said firmly. “She admitted that herself. You didn’t get those marks for the power. You got them for your family’s freedom.” 

He shook his head, and Hawke stepped closer to him and took his face in her hands. “That lyrium branding ritual might have taken your memories and your magic, but it didn’t change who you are,” she said. “I’m sure of that. You’re the same person, whether you used to be a mage or not. This doesn’t really change anything.” She stroked his cheek and stared fiercely into his eyes. “Listen to me. _If_ you were still a mage, you would be the kind of mage _you_ admire. You’re strong and humble, Fenris. If you still had magic of your own, you would still be that way. You’re the same person you always were. This doesn’t change that.”

He gazed back at her with rising distress. Cole had said something similar: _you’re the same,_ he said. But Fenris didn’t feel the same. Nothing felt the same. In the space of an afternoon, of a single conversation, it felt like everything had changed. More than the mark on his hand, more than becoming the Inquisitor, this new piece of information – _I used to be a mage_ : this was the thing that shook him the most. 

A tear streaked down his face, and he hastily wiped it away. Then Hawke’s arms were surrounding him once more.

An ugly sob burst from his throat. He gripped her tightly and buried his face against her shoulder, and she stroked the back of his neck. “Hey,” she crooned softly. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

_You don’t know that,_ he thought. Nothing had been all right since the moment this whole mess had started. Dead darkspawn were coming back to life and claiming to be gods, and the existence of the Maker was being contested, and demons were trickling through the Veil like a dam fit to burst, and everyone thought Fenris would be the one to fix it with this cursed fucking anchor on his hand. But how was he supposed to fix anything? He was a man with a fractured past. A former mage who hated mages on principle – or used to, at least. He didn’t know who he was. How was he supposed to know how to fix anything?

He sobbed again, then pressed his lips together hard. He didn’t want to pour this out on Hawke; he knew she was scared, scared about the state of the world and scared for _him_ , and the last thing he wanted was to add to her burdens. 

She hugged him more tightly still. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Don’t push this down, Fenris. Let it out. You’ll feel better, I promise. You know _I_ always feel better after a big huge bawl-fest. I _look_ like garbage afterwards, but I feel fucking wonderful.”

He attempted to laugh, but it backfired; suddenly the tears were pouring down his face, and he was shaking and barely able to catch his breath. Hawke pulled him over to the bed and pushed him down to sit on its edge, and he blindly pulled her close. 

He wrapped his arms tightly around her and buried his dripping face in her shirt. She hugged his shoulders and stroked his hair. “Make a mess of this shirt if you need to,” she murmured. “I don’t mind. It’s my least favourite one.”

He choked out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Shut up, Hawke,” he mumbled. 

She chuckled and kissed the top of his head, and then she just held him in silence and combed her fingers through his hair as the tears poured from his eyes and soaked into her ill-fated shirt.

Some time later, when the front of her shirt was sodden and his breathing was even and calm, he loosened his grip on her waist. She carefully pulled away from him, then sat beside him on the bed and stroked his back. “Better?” she murmured. 

He shrugged and roughly wiped his face. He wasn’t sure if he felt _better_ , exactly; he felt utterly exhausted and a little bit numb. But perhaps that was better than the anxiety and the rage from earlier today.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I… I don’t know what to make of this, Hawke.” 

She nodded, and they were quiet for a moment longer. Then she bumped his shoulder gently with hers. “Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m always here.” 

“I know,” he said quietly. Then he sighed. “Solas also offered to… to talk about it further. But I don’t… I am not… I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.”

She nodded again, then gently kissed his shoulder. “That’s fine,” she said. “And, I mean… since it’s… what’s done is done,” she said carefully. “So you could just put it behind you, if you want.”

“That’s what Cole suggested,” Fenris said. “Or… that’s what I believe he meant. I can’t be certain what the blasted demon means half the time.”

Hawke chuckled, then bumped his shoulder playfully. “Well, it looks like Solas and Cole have it covered. I suppose you don’t need me after all.”

“No,” Fenris said seriously. He turned to her and took her hands. “You are what I need.” He stroked her hands with his thumbs. “This… this cursed knowledge is a weight. It… all of it is an insufferable weight. I am only standing tall because you are standing with me.”

Her jocular expression softened, and she leaned forward to press her forehead to his. “I’m the same,” she whispered. “I’m… Maker’s balls, I’m _not_ happy we’re here, but I am glad we’re here together.”

She nuzzled his cheek, and he sighed and closed his eyes. Moments later they were stretched out on the bed, their limbs tangled together and his face pressed against her chest once more, and the exhaustion was creeping in and pressing on his eyelids. 

He sighed and slid his hand under her shirt to feel the comforting heat of her back, and she caressed his neck and hair. “Have a nap, Fenris,” she whispered. “You need it. I’ll wake you up in an hour or so.”

“All right,” he mumbled. He nestled his face against her chest and tried to let his tired mind go blank. There was so much uncertainty to deal with: how to kill Corypheus, and what the Grey Wardens were doing out in the Western Approach, and what exactly this blasted Orlesian ball would entail. He’d always been uncertain about his own past, and he thought he’d come to terms with that. But now that he had answers – answers he did not like – he felt even more uncertain than before.

But through it all, like a shining beam of light cutting through the murky darkness, there was one thing he could be certain of: that Hawke would always be by his side. 

Her fingers pressed gently on his scalp, and her familiar scent of sandalwood filled his lungs. Comforted and carried by her presence, Fenris finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little non-canon liberty-taking, anyone? [bites nails nervously]
> 
> ‘Fenris was a mage’ is obviously not an original idea; I’m sure others have written it before, but I have borrowed the idea from [iduna on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iduna/pseuds/iduna), who mentioned the idea in a comment and gave me permission to use it. The idea is also backed up by this [Ghil Dirthanen theory video. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EbtEYHg3l5A) I’m hoping to expand on this more as the fic goes on – via conversations with our darling egg, of course. 
> 
> Also, a quick note: unless my brain decides to pull a 180 on me, the next chapter will be based on Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts – i.e. the Winter Palace – i.e. MY LEAST FAVOURITE MISSION IN THE GAME. I have a vague plan to make it not excruciating to write or read, so I just hope it works out. Wish me luck as I go to replay the mission itself, ugh… [raises three fingers like in the Hunger Games]
> 
> Thanks, everyone! And as always, [I am Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	20. Dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my retelling of _Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts!_ I refused to write a novelization of this quest because it's so convoluted and I hate it. So I did something a little different in the telling of it. I hope it works and makes sense... [panics in Tevene]

“The corner of the Empress’s lips twitched. It was an infinitesimal movement: so small as to not be noticeable, some might say. But the Inquisitor was a perceptive man, and no details, small or large, went unnoticed by the elf’s sharp green eyes.”

Sera made a retching noise and threw a sugared almond at Varric’s head. “Get off of it! Tell it like it really happened.” 

Varric gave her a wounded look. “All right, Buttercup, _you_ tell them how it went.”

“Fine! Maybe I will, yeh?” She sat up and widened her eyes at Blackwall, Bull and Solas, who hadn’t been in the grand ballroom during the introductions. “So Fenny and the whole lot of them are standing there, right?” She gestured dismissively to Cullen, Josephine and Leliana. “And they make a whole song an’ dance like ‘Ser Lordybloomers of the Inquisithingy’, and Fenny prances up to the balcony–”

“False,” Fenris interjected. “I don’t _prance_.” He took a dignified sip of his wine. 

Hawke playfully tapped his knee. “You said you don’t dance, either, and that turned out to be completely untrue.” She looked at Varric eagerly. “Come on, Varric, tell us about the dance with Florianne!”

Fenris grunted and stared into his wine glass. “You saw that. You don’t need to hear Varric telling it.” 

“I didn’t see it,” Carver interjected. 

“Neither did I,” Solas put in.

“Nor I,” Leliana said. “I only saw your final pose. Very impressive, by the way, Fenris.”

There was a general clamour of ‘me neither’ and ‘same here’ from the rest of the group, most of whom (thankfully) hadn’t seen Fenris being forced to dance with the traitorous Grand Duchess. They were all gathered in Fenris and Hawke’s extravagant guest suite in the Winter Palace, and what had started as a serious debriefing session had somehow devolved into Varric’s exaggerated recounting of the night’s events – helped, no doubt, by the copious bottles of wine and liquor that Sera had managed to procure. 

Fenris was slumped on one couch, and Hawke was lounging at his feet with her arm sprawled across his lap. Everyone else, including the advisors, were arrayed on the various plush couches and armchairs. In a large, opulent armchair that evoked the feeling of a throne, Varric was sitting tall as the center of attention – much to Fenris’s mixed amusement and exasperation. 

Hawke waved her hands. “Okay, okay, everyone calm down! Let’s just let Varric tell the story, shall we?” She rested her folded arms on Fenris’s knees once more. 

Varric nodded graciously to her. “Thanks, Hawke. Now, where was I? Right, right. Fenris impressing the Empress with his clever conversational gambits. And his brooding.”

“I don’t brood,” Fenris muttered. 

There was a general ripple of skepticism and amusement from the group. Varric chuckled, then continued his tale. 

*****************

_The Empress was unsuspecting, and the time was ripe. The Inquisitor had work to do while the night was still young. One by one, his loyal companions peeled away like lethal petals from a flower to carry out their separate tasks._

_The infamous Champion of Kirkwall began working the room. She spoke to lords and ladies alike, and each of them swooned under the sway of her charming wit._

(“Aww, thank you, Varric!” Hawke crooned. Sera and Dorian hushed her.)

_Unbeknownst to the Orlesian court, the Champion had an unknown weapon up her sleeve: a ghost of whispers and wishes, floating unseen among them._

******************

“A ghost?” Cole asked. “Was it a real ghost? I could help it.”

“Cole, the ghost was you,” Bull said patiently.

Cole’s eyes went wide. “Me? But… but I’m not a weapon. Am I?” He looked at Solas worriedly. 

Solas shook his head. “It is all right. It is only a dramatic retelling. Rest assured that you are yourself.” 

Cassandra tutted. “Can we get on with it, please?”

Varric chuckled. “Eager to hear when you come into play, Seeker?”

Cassandra scowled, then shrugged and folded her arms. “Perhaps I am curious how you will spin my role in all of this. I detested this ball, after all.” 

Fenris lazily raised his glass. “ _Benefaris_ to that.”

Hawke snickered and patted his knee. “Go on, Varric. We’re listening.”

*****************

_The Inquisition’s stalwart warriors marched away to watch the palace perimeters. Armed with their glorious horns, beard, and brawn, the warriors sent Orlais one message and one message alone: the Inquisition was not to be trifled with._

_Only one warrior remained in the palace’s heart: The Lady Seeker herself, armed with the glory of her scowl and awaiting the Inquisitor’s signal before doing what she did best – striking hard and fast with her righteous blade._

(Cassandra tutted. “Righteous blade, indeed,” she muttered, but her cheeks were turning pink.)

_Meanwhile, the Inquisitor’s two finest elves slipped in among the servants. Unseen and anonymous despite their bright blonde hair and… uh… lack of hair, they picked up secrets and whispers of their own, and they highlighted a message that every noble needs to learn: never underestimate the little people._

(“Hear, hear!” Sera announced, and she polished off her cider in three big gulps.)

_Only one companion remained: the Tevinter mage, with his fiendishly waxed mustache and fiendish good looks. Lords and ladies parted left and right as he walked past them into the garden, but bigger than his smile and his puffed-up chest was the message his presence told: that the Inquisition is for everyone… everyone who doesn’t stand in our way._

*******************

Dorian snickered. “‘Fiendish good looks’, you say? Why Varric, I didn’t realize you were so very fond of me.” He twirled his mustache playfully. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sparkler,” Varric chuckled. “It’s all for the sake of the story.”

“What about you?” Fenris interjected. “Don’t leave yourself out. Not if the rest of us are dragged into this farce.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric said affably. “I was waiting in the lower garden for the chance to strike, just like Cassandra.” He smirked at Fenris. “You, meanwhile… how about _you_ tell us what you were doing?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow and lowered his glass of wine. “Talking to nobles, unfortunately,” he said. “And climbing garden lattices to ransack locked rooms for clues.”

Hawke laughed. “I beg your pardon? You did what?”

“Shocking, I know,” Fenris said. “The noble elite, looking a mere elf in the eye. I would attribute it to the authority of the uniform.” He tipped a nod to Josephine, who had insisted on their main party all wearing the same red outfit for the sake of unity.

Josephine beamed at him, but Hawke tutted playfully. “I more meant the climbing of garden lattices,” she said. “I can’t believe nobody noticed you doing that.” 

Dorian raised a hand. “I’d like to claim credit for that,” he said. “I complained about the cakes, and while everyone was staring at my glorious little tantrum, Fenris shimmied up the lattice. It was highly amusing.”

Fenris _harrumph_ ed. “I live to entertain.” 

“If only that were true,” Dorian said. “You were very good at it. _I_ laughed.”

Blackwall leaned forward. “Go on,” he urged Varric. “Tell us what happened next.”

“Actually, I can’t,” Varric admitted. “I was stuck in the lower garden for a while. Fenris has to pick up the narrative from here.” 

Everyone looked at Fenris, and he sighed. “Celene’s so-called arcane advisor appeared, did some grandstanding, and gave me a key to the servant’s quarters that she’d taken off of some Tevinter attacker that she killed.” He frowned. “A fortunate development, considering that someone seemed to be killing every elven servant who went that way.” 

Another uproar of surprise and protests greeted this statement. “Pissing tossbags,” Sera spat.

“Killing every elven servant?” Blackwall exclaimed. “That’s vile. Who would do that?”

“Wait, wait,” Carver protested with wide eyes. “Apostate advisor? Dead Tevinter attacker? The – the mage advisor killed the Tevinter? On her own?”

Varric snickered and sipped his ale. “You really have to work on your storytelling, elf.”

Fenris scoffed, then looked at Carver. “Yes, she killed the Tevinter herself. Despite her ballgown and apparent lack of weapons.” He frowned slightly and studied his glass. He still wasn’t feeling particularly pleased about Morrigan joining them at Skyhold.

Leliana, shrewd as ever, tilted her head. “Fenris, what did you think of Morrigan?”

“I think your opinion matters more,” he told her. “You know her, after all.”

“I do,” Leliana confirmed. “But it has been many years since we last met. And first impressions are very informative. I am curious what you thought.”

“Yeah, tell us more about her,” Varric said. “You can’t just introduce a new character and not give us any details.”

Fenris shot him a chiding look. “This is a debriefing, not a writing class.” He raised an eyebrow. “Though if you offered a writing class at Skyhold, I’m sure you would gather a large turnout.” 

“Would _you_ sign up for it?” Varric asked. “You could clearly use the help.”

Hawke snorted. Fenris smirked, then turned to Leliana. “Morrigan is smug,” he said bluntly. “I get the impression she has the knowledge to back up her arrogance, but that only concerns me more. And she admitted to practicing blood magic.” He curled his lip in disdain. “She may have information that can further our goals, but she is not trustworthy.” 

Leliana nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for your perspective. It is good to know.”

Fenris nodded as well, then looked at Varric. “All right. You tell what happened next, since you’re the expert.”

Varric propped his booted feet up on the coffee table. “That I am, elf. All right then, here’s what happened next.” 

******************

_Fenris, Cassandra, Dorian and I stepped into the servant’s quarters, only to be greeted by a very dead body._

_It wasn’t the only one. A trail of blood led us through the kitchens, then the sleeping quarters and out into the gardens, and all the while… Bodies everywhere. Men, women, young and old; no one was spared by the vicious killers that swept through the servants’ quarters more voraciously than a food poisoning epidemic in the Kirkwall docks._

_But every dead servant had one thing in common: their distinctive pointed ears._

_The Inquisitor was enraged. Oh, it was a quiet rage, to be sure; a wrinkle between his eyebrows and a sneer to his lip. But the meaning in his face was clear: the perpetrators would come to justice at Fenris’s hands, and the slain elves would be avenged._

_What we didn’t realize was that there was more than one nefarious force at work in that garden._

_We approached the central fountain. Lying there on the scrubbed brickworks was another body. But this one was different. This one was human._

_And buried in the dead human’s back was a dagger bearing Gaspard de Chalons’ family crest._

****************

“Ah. The plot begins to thicken,” Solas said.

Varric smiled and steepled his fingers. “You got that right, Chuckles.”

Fenris studied Solas in a slightly nonplussed sort of way. For a man who’d spent most of his life alone with only spirits for company, Solas seemed oddly at ease during the entire event tonight. At one point, Leliana even complained that Solas was failing to blend in with the elven servants due to ‘his inescapable air of authority’. 

“So who was the human?” Bull asked. “Somebody important, I assume.”

“Yep,” Varric said. “It was none other than the emissary of the Council of Heralds. An innocent emissary, just trying to do his peacekeeping job. From the look of the dagger in his back, it seemed like the Duke had something more ominous on his mind than mere peacekeeping.”

“And then those Venatori-hired rogues appeared and attacked us all,” Cassandra groused. 

Varric grinned at her. “Oh-ho. The Seeker wants to pick up the tale?”

“No,” Cassandra said defensively. “There is not – there is nothing to tell. The Venatori attacked. We eliminated them, then chased down that harlequin, and then Briala appeared.”

“Briala was there?” Solas said. 

“Harlequin?” Hawke interrupted in confusion. “I’m assuming you mean something different from just a clowny sort of court jester.”

Fenris huffed. “This was no court jester,” he said. “Two daggers, striking like a viper. And he was… _kaffas_ , he was quick on his feet. Extremely quick. Briala was the one who cut him down, in the end.” 

Hawke still looked faintly confused. “And this person is a Venatori…?”

Josephine shook her head. “Harlequins are… well, they are mercenaries, technically. But of a very elite kind. Only the finest nobility can afford their services. They are extremely expensive, and very skilled.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, most of the time.”

Solas stroked his chin. “So the elven ambassador took it on herself to come to the rescue of her people,” he mused. “Interesting.”

Sera huffed. “Weird for a noble ponce.” 

“Yes,” Fenris said, both to Sera and to Solas. “An Orlesian leader taking direct risks for her people seems unusual, from what I’ve learned.” In truth, Fenris was still feeling some discomfort about how the night had ended with regards to Briala. In truth, he respected her commitment to her people. It was an uncommon leader indeed who personally came to guard her people’s safety. But Briala was a danger as well. As per that letter he’d found from Gaspard to Celene, Briala possessed an unnamed weapon – a weapon that could allegedly ‘turn the tide of every war’, and which she’d denied the existence of… 

Bull interrupted his troubled thoughts. “So, boss. Was Briala a jilted ex-lover of the Empress? Anybody get any confirmation on that?”

“She was,” Fenris confirmed. Then he raised an eyebrow at Bull. “Will you be sending my answer back to Par Vollen?”

Bull smirked and jerked his head at Leliana. “Only if Red here says I can.”

Leliana looked at Fenris. “Briala told you this herself?”

“Yes,” he said. “When I spoke to her in the ballroom, before the encounter in the garden.” 

“I see,” Leliana said. She leaned back on the couch and elegantly crossed her ankles. “So that is the information you used to blackmail her.” 

Fenris nodded. Dorian ruefully shook his head. “I still think the information was more damning to Celene than to Briala. The Empress carrying on with an elven serving girl? No offense to Briala. She is a formidable little thing.” He glanced at Fenris, and his eyes widened slightly. “No offense to you either. Or, er, to either of you,” he added to Solas and Sera. 

Sera wrinkled her nose at him, and Solas simply looked resigned, and Dorian sighed. “Perhaps I’ll shut my mouth now.” 

Fenris rubbed his forehead tiredly. “It’s about time,” he said. 

Dorian snorted, and Varric shot Leliana a reproving look. “You’re jumping ahead, Nightingale. The story’s getting all out of order now.” 

Leliana smiled faintly, then bowed her head. “My apologies, Varric. Please go on.”

Varric cleared his throat, then picked up the story once more.

***************

_The elven ambassador’s hands were bloody, but her bare feet were clean as she stepped toward us. It seemed that the ambassador and the Inquisitor had more in common than their pointed ears: a shared love of spilling Tevinter blood._

_Briala’s masked eyes were warm as they looked Fenris over. “I misjudged you,” she said. “You might just be an ally worth having. Imagine what you could do with an army of elven spies at your disposal.”_

_Fenris’s reply was steely with resolve. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “You might have something useful to offer us, if you survive the night.”_

(“That’s not what I said–” Fenris protested, but everyone hushed him.)

_The ambassador smirked. Fenris’s challenge was obvious to everyone in the room, but Briala was a woman who flirted with danger, and she didn’t seem to mind. “I know which way the wind is blowing,” she said. “I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way? It could prove advantageous to us both.”_

_With one last enigmatic smile, the ambassador hopped off of the balcony and disappeared into the night._

************************

There was a general murmur of interest around the room. Carver’s blue eyes were wide as he gazed at Varric and Fenris in turn. “So all three of them offered you an alliance,” he said. “You could pick whoever you wanted! I guess that’s how you ended up–”

He broke off with a yelp as a sugared almond struck him in the forehead. “ _Shhh!_ ” Sera hissed. “Don’t make him jump around. You’re ruining it.”

Carver rubbed his forehead and glowered at her, and Varric raised his eyebrows at all of them. “Now for the best part – the part everyone’s been waiting for: Fenris’s dance with Florianne.”

“Ooh, I want to tell this bit!” Hawke blurted. “Let me do it!” 

“Hawke,” Fenris said warningly, but she ignored him and shot Varric a pleading look. Varric chuckled, then waved magnanimously at her. “All right, fine. A guest narrator, if you will.” 

Fenris shook his head, and Blackwall chuckled indulgently. “This ought to be good.”

“No, it’s going to be terrible,” Carver drawled. 

Hawke gasped in mock offense. “Carv, how dare you! I’m offended–”

“All right, all right, get on with it,” Cullen said loudly. “Hawke, please tell your tale.”

Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide a smirk. Cullen had been pouting for most of the evening; upon arriving at Fenris and Hawke’s suite an hour ago, he’d expressed a clear wish to quickly debrief and then go to sleep so they could leave early the next morning. He’d been less than thrilled when the team meeting had become a party. It was clear, however, that the entertainment of the night had finally won the Commander over.

Hawke winked at Cullen, then picked up the tale. 

*****************

_The Grand Duchess made a beeline straight for the handsome white-haired elf. She couldn’t help herself, and who could blame her? He was the most drop-dead handsome man in the room, after all._

_Two seconds later, they were spinning around on the dance floor, and every eye in the ballroom was on Fenris. Sure, you could say it was because he’s an elf and he’s the Inquisitor, but we all know the truth: it’s his natural charisma and charm, all thinly veiled by that mysterious layer of brooding – I know, I know, you don’t brood – but it was more than the duchess could resist. By the end of the dance, half the nobles in the room were ready to throw their knickers at him._

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Fenris wooed the Grand Duchess Florianne._

*********************

Almost everyone groaned, including Fenris. Carver booed, and a sugared almond from Sera’s direction bounced off of Hawke’s cheek.

She burst into laughter and waved her hands. “Okay, okay, fine! Seriously though, Fenris did a gorgeous job. He was so graceful, even though he’d only practiced that dance with Josephine once and with me about three times. He kept a straight face the entire time – a perfect wicked-grace face. He gave nothing away.” She smiled proudly at him. “He could have been mistaken for a noble himself, he was so good.”

Fenris scoffed. “Is that what it looked like to you? I can tell you that is not how it seemed to me.” 

“What _was_ it like, then?” Carver asked. “Dancing like that in the middle of all those people?” His eyes were wider than ever, and Fenris was faintly amused by his fascination. But he supposed this was the first time Carver had been to an elegant soirée such as this. Hawke had been to a fair number of smaller soirées during the height of her fame in Kirkwall, and Fenris had (somewhat reluctantly) accompanied her a handful of times. But as a Templar, Carver had never had the chance. 

Fenris took another sip of wine to stall for time. He’d absolutely hated the dance with Florianne for a number of reasons: the sheer volume of attention pouring on him from every corner of the room, the duplicity and the veiled threats under every word, the requirement to touch a strange woman who wasn’t Hawke. But he wasn’t particularly inclined to share all of that right now.

Thankfully, Leliana asked another question that was easier to answer. “She spoke to you during the dance, didn’t she?” the spymaster said slyly. “She seemed quite impressed with you. What did you say to her?” 

Fenris shrugged and idly swirled his half-empty glass of wine. “I did what you and Josephine told me to do. Every question she asked, I simply threw back to her. She asked what I knew about their civil war, so I asked her what _she_ thought about it. She asked who I trust, and I asked her who _she_ trusted instead.” He frowned at his wine, then took a sip before speaking again. “The rich and powerful are the same everywhere you go. They love nothing more than talking about themselves. It is a simple rule to learn, and simpler still to exploit.”

Sera sniggered and raised her fifth tankard of cider to him, sloshing some on herself in the process. “Now _that’s_ the truest thing anyone’s said ever in this whole pissing palace.” 

Fenris saluted her with his glass, then looked at Blackwall, Bull, and Carver, who had missed most of the action. “By this time, both Briala and Florianne had accused Gaspard of being involved with the Venatori,” he said. “Celene’s strange handmaidens said that both Gaspard and Briala were duplicitous, but they gave me nothing specific. When Florianne advised me to go looking in the royal wing for clues against her brother…” He shrugged. “There was nothing to lose. At least the royal wing was supposed to be deserted.”

Josephine turned to the warriors. “The royal wing was closed for renovations, you see,” she explained helpfully. “It was meant to be empty.” She turned to Varric with wide eyes. “But it wasn’t empty at all, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Varric said. He steepled his fingers once more. “Far from empty, in fact.” He raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “You want to tell the next bit?”

Fenris slung his arm along the back of the couch and waved his glass at Varric. “Go on. Tell them whatever you want.”

Varric grinned at him. “All right. You asked for it.”

***********************

_As Fenris said, the royal wing was supposed to be deserted. But nothing could be farther from the truth._

_We walked up a flight of stairs into a long corridor of bedrooms, and the first thing we heard was a scream of fright. We ran toward the nearest bedroom, and Cassandra shoved it open. Inside the room, cowering on the floor, was a terrified elven servant. And looming over the servant with two wicked daggers in her hands was yet another harlequin._

_Fenris had had enough. He’d seen too many murdered servants tonight; well, we all had, really. He bolted into the room, and with a roar of rage, he booted the harlequin straight at the window._

_The window exploded in a shower of glass. The harlequin let out a horrible scream as she fell, and with a satisfying ‘thud’ of flesh and broken bones, she hit the ground and died._

***************

Josephine clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my!” she gasped.

Hawke, meanwhile, was laughing until she was fit to burst. Leliana gave Fenris a mysterious little half-smile. “Crude but effective,” she said. “You do get results.” 

Fenris grunted and finished off his wine. “You said it yourself: the harlequins are mercenaries. They knew the risks.” 

“And that,” Varric told the room, “is why no one goes up against the Inquisitor.” 

There was an appreciative ripple of laughter, and Fenris rubbed his hair in embarrassment. Colourful though Varric’s telling certainly was, he was right; Fenris really had seen far too many murdered underclass elves for a single night. 

He gulped the last of his wine and tried to stave off the residual anger. So many dead servants, treated like dispensable pawns and killed for no good reason except to pit those in power against each other. The Orlesian Empire truly was as bad as Tevinter in its own way: the Tevinters used their slaves for spectacles of blood magic, and the Orlesians used their servants in this cursed Grand Game. And in both places, most of those powerless pawns were elves.

Josephine and Leliana might find the Game exhilarating, but Fenris found it to be nothing short of abhorrent. 

He stared into the bottom of his glass. Amusing though some of Varric’s story might be, Fenris was relieved that the tale was nearing its end; he was almost at the point of wanting to kick everyone out of the suite for some time alone with Hawke. 

“Is there any more of that wine?” he muttered. 

“I’ll get it,” Hawke hiccupped. Fenris squeezed her hand in thanks as she rose to her feet, and she tapped Varric’s shoulder as she passed him by. “Tell them about the naked soldier now.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me? There was a naked soldier?” he demanded. 

“Ah, that’s got your attention, has it?” Dorian said shrewdly. 

Cullen scowled, and Varric chuckled. “Yes indeed, there was,” he confirmed. “Tied to the Empress’s bed, no less.”

Solas smiled faintly at this, and Sera cackled. Bull shrugged and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Not seeing the problem here,” he said. 

“The soldier was one of Gaspard’s,” Fenris said. “Celene tricked him into revealing Gaspard’s plans for the night, then left him tied to the bed so he couldn’t betray that she knew.”

“Plans, you say?” Blackwall said with a frown. “What plans were these?”

Varric looked expectantly at Fenris, and Fenris sighed. “Gaspard was planning a coup all along,” he said. “Under the guise of the peace talks, he was bringing chevaliers and mercenaries into the castle to wrest control from Celene. We found a mercenary captain of Gaspard’s, and he confirmed it.” He looked at Leliana. “You will have a new agent joining your ranks, by the way. The mercenary captain is on his way to Skyhold now with his men.”

Leliana nodded her head graciously. “Well done.” 

“Maker’s mercy,” Carver marvelled. “So you prevented a military coup tonight.”

“Yep,” Varric said. “We came here trying to stop an assassination, and we ended up stopping the civil war.” 

Fenris shook his head ruefully as Hawke handed him a new glass of wine. “The opposite of what usually happens to us,” he said flatly. “It’s rather refreshing.” 

“No kidding,” she said. She curled up beside him with a glass of cider. “Usually we go in trying to stop a disaster and end up inciting an even bigger one. This is a first!” 

“But that was not the worst of it,” Cassandra interjected. “That is when we discovered Florianne’s treachery.” 

“Oh yes,” Hawke said with wide eyes. “The rift, right?”

“Wait. What?” Blackwall demanded. “There was a rift in the Winter Palace?”

“Yep,” Varric confirmed. “Smack in the middle of the garden.”

“I still don’t understand how that’s possible,” Cullen protested. “I thought the rifts only formed in places where the Veil was thin.”

“Precisely, Commander,” Solas said. “Places of conflict and bloodshed draw the attention of spirits, and it is extremely likely that the Winter Palace – and Halamshiral, for that matter – have seen heavily of both. It likely took little more than a push from an agent of Corypheus to form the tear, resulting in the corruption of the spirits that lurked on the other side.”

“They didn’t mean to come,” Cole said, causing Cullen to jump and scowl. “Passive but pulled, pulling back but preyed upon, pouncing in return. They didn’t understand.”

Dorian pulled a little face. “Sorry about having to eliminate your brethren, Cole. It’s an eat-or-be-eaten kind of world, though, I’m afraid.”

Cole’s eyes went wide. “You ate the demons?” 

Hawke and Dorian snorted into their drinks, and Sera tutted in disgust. “Why is it here?” she complained. “It doesn’t drink or understand anything.” She glared at Cole. “Get out of it, creepy!”

Solas frowned at her, and Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, come on, we’re getting to the really juicy bits. So Florianne reveals her evil plan – you know, as you do – and she makes a rift. You all defeat the demons, and our handsome protagonist closes the rift. And then it was a grand chase to the ballroom to stop her before she could carry out her lovingly-detailed evil plan.”

“Exactly,” Varric said. 

“We all know what happened next,” Fenris said flatly. “We returned to the ballroom with barely enough time to stop Florianne, and she and her cursed harlequins killed a handful of Cullen’s people before I managed to tear out her miserable heart.” 

A somber silence met his blunt words. Then Hawke raised her glass. “To our fallen friends,” she said softly. She looked directly at Cullen. “I’m sorry for their loss, Cullen.” 

He and the rest of their group raised their glasses and tankards. “Thank you, Hawke,” Cullen said quietly. “They were good and loyal soldiers.” 

They all sipped from their drinks and observed a moment of respectful silence. Then Varric turned to Fenris with a thoughtful expression. “You know, elf, you never did tell us how you resolved that whole who’s-in-power situation. You have to tell us how that conversation happened.”

“That’s very true,” Dorian agreed. “One moment we’re chasing down the Duchess while she leaps around the garden like some sort of statuesque evil grasshopper. Next thing we know she’s dead on the ground with a hole in her chest, and you’re striding back into the palace with blood all over your hand, and we didn’t get to hear the rest of it.” He casually slung his arm along the back of the couch and smirked. “Did you just march up to the Empress and the ambassador and the Duke and say, ‘why hello there, you just met me and I’m not from here, but I’m going to tell you how to run your nation now’?”

Fenris rubbed his face tiredly. For all that Dorian might be joking, that’s certainly what it felt like. “Is it necessary to explain what happened in detail?” he asked. “You know the results.”

“I’m quite curious, myself,” Leliana said. “I’d very much like to know how you talked them all into working together.” 

Fenris sighed and took another gulp of his wine. “All of them were dirty,” he said. “They were each duplicitous in their own way. I exposed their backstabbing to each other, and we had witnesses to testify, and they had no choice but to cease the squabbling.” He shrugged. “No one was particularly pleased. It was a good compromise.” 

Hawke squeezed his knee fondly. “Aww, Fenris. You taught the children how to share,” she joked. 

He grunted and vaguely waved his hand at the room, encompassing their whole group in the process. “We have rebel mages fighting alongside Templars, and a Tevinter mage guarding a qunari’s back. If we can force ourselves to work together, so can the cursed Orlesian nobility.” 

Cassandra and Josephine smiled at him, and Cullen nodded approvingly. Blackwall raised his tankard. “Now _that’s_ a sentiment that deserves a toast,” he announced. 

“Even if our glorious leader delivered the sentiment in a pretty grumpy way,” Varric added with a smirk. 

Hawke reached over and playfully smacked his leg. “Don’t spoil it, Varric!” she scolded. She raised her glass. “Cheers,” she said, and she smiled at Fenris. “To successfully fucking up Corypheus’s plan.”

“Yes!” Sera said brightly. “To lots of arrows straight into Coryfish’s dangle-bag!”

Cullen grimaced, but they all raised their glasses in a hearty salute. Then finally, _blessedly_ , the conversation moved away from Fenris’s actions that night and on to the more frivolous gossip of the night. 

Fenris breathed a sigh of relief as the conversation floated from the Marquise of Something-or-Other’s scandalous dress to a detailed accounting of who-was-spotted-kissing-whom. He was glad the attention was off of him for now, because he needed to think. There was one final conversation he’d had tonight – one that he hadn’t told anyone about yet, not even Hawke.

It was after he’d forced Celene, Gaspard and Briala to come to a public truce and devote a portion of their resources to the Inquisition’s endeavours. Celene and Gaspard were whispering heatedly to each other as they made their way from the private balcony back into the grand ballroom, and Fenris was trailing behind them and wondering when he would finally be able to escape from them for some blasted peace and quiet. 

Briala suddenly stopped in the balcony doorway and folded her arms. “I cannot believe you want to make a speech,” she said to Celene. “This is foolish.”

Celene turned to her. “We have no choice,” she said in a faintly resigned tone. “The nobility requires an answer for what happened here tonight.” 

“Unless you want to pretend this was all a dream?” Gaspard said. “That would go over well.” He shot Briala a pointed look. 

She narrowed her eyes, and Gaspard made a sharp decisive gesture. “No more dithering,” he said. “We make the cut swift and clean. Kindest to all of us.” He strode toward the grand balcony with Celene drifting gracefully in his wake. 

Briala huffed softly and followed them inside, and Fenris followed in her wake. Rather than joining her two opponents-made-allies, however, Briala stopped in the shadows of a large nearby pillar and leaned against it with her arms folded. 

Fenris drew to a halt beside her. He was keen for a moment out of the spotlight himself. He listened with half an ear as Celene lifted her arms graciously and smiled at the whispering crowd. “Lords and ladies of the court, we are pleased to announce that an accord has been reached…” 

He sighed and briefly rubbed his aching forehead as Celene continued her speech. Now that the deed was done, surely he could slip away and find Hawke for a moment of quiet. 

He turned away, but Briala quietly addressed him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

Her voice was soft and aloof. Behind her mask, her expression was equally so. But her neutrality did nothing to hide her obvious disapproval.

Fenris gave her a flat look. “Don’t be so disappointed. You are still a player in this cursed game. Perhaps when we aren’t all on the brink of disaster, you can resume your petty civil war.”

A faint, bitter smile touched the corners of her lips. “So much disdain you have,” she murmured. She tilted her head and studied him for a moment before speaking again. “I know of you, Inquisitor. And not just the fanciful gossip that is whispered in the court. Orlesians are very fond of Master Tethras’s novels, you know.” 

Fenris sneered. “I’ll be certain to pass on your praise.” He started to walk away.

Briala spoke again before he could take another step. “You had an opportunity here tonight. We both did. And you lost it for both of us.”

Fenris stopped and glared at her. “You should be pleased I didn’t throw you entirely to the wolves,” he said. He jerked his chin at Celene and Gaspard. “You have just as much power now as they. You’re greedy, and you’re angry that you are being forced to share it.” 

Briala laughed quietly. “I have just as much power, you say? Is that why I am standing in the shadows now?”

“You’re a master of spies,” Fenris said. “Of course you are in the shadows.” He thought of Sera and her network of Red Jennies: little people who were always overlooked, but whose tips or information or petty thievery could bring the most smug of nobles to ruin. 

“Your people collect information in those shadows,” he said. He gestured dismissively at the hall full of nobles. “They underestimate you while you move unseen through their cities and their homes. Their walls have ears, and they’re too arrogant to see it.” He narrowed his eyes at Briala. “You run a network of spies that collects vast amounts of knowledge. With Celene and Gaspard off your back, surely you can use that to benefit your people. _And_ to benefit the Inquisition’s efforts against Corypheus,” he said pointedly. 

Briala returned his gaze for a long, silent moment. Just when Fenris was considering walking away once more, she spoke in a very quiet voice. “You were a slave in Tevinter,” she said. “You more than anyone should understand what I was trying to do here tonight.”

Fenris curled his lip. “Cause chaos by pitting these humans against each other?”

“Build a better world for my people,” Briala retorted. “ _Our_ people. All the elves, no matter your clan or alienage or birth. That was my goal. It has always been my goal.” She looked at the Empress and the Duke. “I could have made real change. I could have…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Now I’ve been thwarted once again.” She shot Fenris a resentful look. “By you, my lord.” 

“I am no lord,” Fenris growled.

Briala’s lips curled in a humourless smirk. “Keep telling yourself that, Inquisitor. You played the Grand Game tonight, and you won. If you think you’re any less dirty than us, you are only lying to yourself.” 

Fenris scowled, and they fell into a dour silence. Then Fenris shot her another threatening look. “A letter I found tonight mentioned a weapon,” he said, very quietly. “A weapon in _your_ possession that could turn the tides of war. Tell me what that weapon is.” 

Briala gave him a skeptical look. “Have you learned nothing from your time here? Lies and fabrications. If I had such a powerful weapon, don’t you think I would have used it tonight?” 

Fenris eyed her suspiciously. Her tone was condescending, but he wasn’t convinced that he should believe her. 

She stonily returned his stare, then sighed. She jerked her chin at Celene and Gaspard. “Take your place at their side, Inquisitor,” she said. “Celene has a knife-ear to thank for her life and her empire tonight.” 

She met his gaze once more, and her steel-grey eyes were hard and determined. “Don’t hide in the shadows as I did,” she said. “Do not let her forget that she owes you everything.”

Her voice was back to its neutral, pleasant tone. Without waiting for Fenris’s response, she turned away from him and strolled back toward the balcony, then deftly slipped over the balcony railing and out of sight.

“Hey.” 

Fenris jolted, his thoughts abruptly returning to the present as Varric sat on the couch beside him. 

“Varric,” Fenris said quietly. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. The night’s impromptu festivities were still underway; Hawke and Sera seemed to be doing an impression of some unfortunate couple’s fairly terrible dancing from earlier tonight, much to the amusement of all. 

Varric raised a knowing eyebrow. “You look beat. You want us to clear out?”

Fenris hesitated, and Varric chuckled. “Say no more. I’ve got it.” He stood up and raised his voice. “Hey, everyone, come on over to mine. I managed to wrangle a crate of Orzammar ale from someone in the Guild who _doesn’t_ want to hang me by my thumbs.” 

Blackwall, Carver, Bull, Sera, Josephine and Dorian expressed their interest while Solas, Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana made their excuses. One by one, with many jokes to Hawke and congratulations to Fenris, they all trickled out the door. 

Varric was the last to go. Fenris bowed his head briefly to his friend. “You have my thanks,” he said quietly. 

“No problem,” Varric said. He winked at Hawke, then slipped out the door.

The suite was blessedly quiet in the wake of the party’s departure. Fenris returned to the couch and flopped down with a heavy sigh, then reached for Hawke. 

She smiled and accepted his wordless invitation, settling herself beside him and nestling cozily into his side. “Well, that went well! Still surprised it went as well as it did, honestly. So did you get a chance to eat any of the frilly little–”

“Hawke,” Fenris said quietly. “I think I made a mistake.”

She stopped, then sat back on her knees and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. As much as he disdained Briala’s attempts to sabotage the peace talks tonight, the conversation they’d had earlier that night wouldn’t stop running through his mind. 

It was reminiscent of arguments he’d had with Merrill in the past: arguments where Merrill had accused Fenris of being unfeeling toward other disadvantaged elves. Fenris had always fought with her for this hypocrisy; _she’d_ largely ignored the plight of the Kirkwall alienage until her cursed Keeper Marethari had died, after all, and only then had she started to help the alienage at Hawke’s suggestion. Furthermore, Merrill was steeped in the privilege of her Dalish upbringing. She had no right to lecture Fenris about the plight of the common city elf.

Briala, on the other hand… She was no Merrill. She wasn’t some entitled Dalish snob seeking to reclaim the so-called ancient glory of the elves. She was fighting for elves as they were now, regardless of their history or provenance. Briala saw herself as one of her people, and as she’d demonstrated tonight, she was willing to place herself in danger to defend them. 

Fenris sighed and tugged at his hair. “What I mean is… perhaps Celene is not the best person to run the Orlesian Empire,” he said slowly. 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “You think Gaspard would have been better?”

“Not Gaspard, no,” Fenris said. In all fairness, he’d initially thought Gaspard might not be a bad choice for Emperor; his military experience and his decisive nature were rather appealing, particularly in a time of war such as this. But Fenris had swiftly lost respect for Gaspard upon discovering that the Duke was just as prone to the petty machinations of the Grand Game as the Empress and the elven ambassador. 

Hawke studied him in confusion for a moment. Then her face cleared in surprise. “ _Oh_. Briala?”

Fenris nodded. The fact that it had taken Hawke so long to realize who he meant just made him feel all the more like he’d made a mistake. 

“She’s smart,” Fenris said. “She knows how to coordinate a large group to achieve her goals. And… she cares about her people. Enough to bloody her hands to help them.” 

Hawke nibbled her lip. “But for Briala to be Empress… _Could_ she even be the Empress?”

Fenris frowned. “Why couldn’t she be?” he retorted. 

“No reason,” Hawke said hurriedly. “You’re… you’re right, there should be no reason she couldn’t be Empress.” 

They fell into an uneasy silence. Hawke was awkwardly tugging at her ear, and Fenris studied the rounded shape of it. Through all the years he and Hawke had known each other, their racial differences had never been a source of contention in their relationship. Hawke vociferously cut down anyone who criticized her for having an elf for a partner, and she often expressed greater pro-elf tendencies than even Fenris did. But at moments like this, the inescapable and implicit privilege that Hawke’s race afforded her was uncomfortably clear. The fact that Briala’s candidacy as Empress hadn’t even occurred to Hawke right away… 

Fenris sighed heavily. The long-ingrained institutions of the world they lived in: _those_ were the problem, not Hawke. “You’re not wrong,” he grunted. “Those blasted nobles would never accept a knife-ear for their Empress.”

“Don’t use that word,” Hawke said quietly. “Not even as a joke.”

Fenris smiled faintly at her. Then he ran a hand through his hair once more. “Leliana suggested… Before we discovered that Florianne was the assassin, Leliana said that perhaps Celene didn’t need to be the ruler of Orlais. She suggested having Briala rule Orlais with Gaspard as her mouthpiece.” 

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Leliana suggested letting the assassin kill Celene?”

Fenris nodded, and Hawke’s eyes went impossibly wide. “Well, shit. She’s scarier than that sweet singing voice of hers lets on, isn’t she?” 

Fenris snorted in amusement. “Yes, she is.” 

Hawke was quiet for a moment. Then she cast him a sideways look. “Why didn’t you do it, then? Let Celene die?”

Fenris tiredly rubbed the back of his neck. “It felt too duplicitous,” he said. “A low move. Condoning assassinations during a ball…” He shook his head. “They do this in Tevinter too, you know. Worse in Tevinter, even, what with the addition of blood magic for show. But this was not dissimilar to the sort of disgusting displays I have witnessed before. I refused to lower myself to their level.” 

Briala’s words unwittingly came to his mind, however. _You played the Grand Game tonight, and you won. If you think you’re any less dirty than us, you are only lying to yourself._

He shoved the disturbing thoughts aside. “Besides, to let Celene die would be to let an agent of Corypheus succeed. I refuse to let that cursed undead magister succeed in even a small way,” he growled. 

Hawke squeezed his hand in both of hers. “Those are very fair reasons for not letting her die, Fenris,” she said softly. 

He shrugged. He wasn’t feeling entirely reassured. After all, there was one other important and much less virtuous reason he’d had for making the Empress, the Duke, and the ambassador work together. 

“Also, I was tired,” Fenris said bluntly.

Hawke barked out a laugh. “What?”

“I was tired, Hawke,” he said. “I was fed up with it all. The running around, the foolish secrets and the petty bids for power… I was sick of it. Forcing them to work together seemed the easiest choice, and I was sick of thinking about it.” He scowled at his lap. “I should never have been the one to make that choice in the first place. I am not from this cursed nation. They… they ask me to make a decision based on incomplete information? This is what they get. It’s…” 

He slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Hawke wrapped her arm around him and shook him gently. “Hey,” she said encouragingly. “I don’t think anyone could ever call ‘cooperation’ a mistake. Seriously, Fenris,” she insisted. “Maybe it’s not the choice you’d prefer in retrospect, but it wasn’t a mistake.” 

He shook his head, but Hawke squeezed his shoulders slightly, forcing him to sit up and look at her. “Listen,” she said. “Maybe we’ll find out at some point in the future that it was a mistake, and Briala should have been in charge. But it’s not a mistake right now,” she said loudly, cutting off his nascent protests. “Fenris, it’s not a mistake now. The fucking masquerade is done, and everyone’s playing nice and they’re going to help the Inquisition take Corytits down. It’s done. It’s fixed for now, and that’s good enough. All right?”

He sighed heavily, and Hawke tilted his chin up with a gentle finger. “All right?” she said insistently. 

Fenris squeezed her wrist, then took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “All right. Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll attempt to put this farce behind me.”

“Good,” she said pertly. She gave him a quick kiss, then rose from the couch and planted her fists on her hips. “Now there’s something I’ve been wanting all night and didn’t get a chance to have.”

Her tone was playful. Fenris gave her a sardonic smirk. “Hawke, if you really thought we were going to find a moment during the blasted masquerade to sneak away for sex…” 

She laughed delightedly. “You gorgeous filthy man,” she purred. “But no, that’s not what I meant for once.” She held out her hand. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

He gave her a chiding look and didn’t move. “We can’t dance. There is no music.” 

“Yes there is,” she said. “Listen.”

He listened. She was right: outside the balcony at the other end of the room, like a faint breath of wind floating through the air, he could hear the smooth strains of a lute and a woman’s voice singing an Orlesian song. 

He looked at Hawke. She was smiling hopefully at him, and her hand was still outstretched. 

Fenris shook his head and smirked. “ _Venhedis_ ,” he muttered. He rose to his feet, then bowed deeply to her. “Lady Rynne, may I have this dance?”

Her smile widened at his slightly sarcastic tone, and he took her outstretched hand. He carefully led her around the coffee table and the couches and out to the balcony, then gracefully twirled her before pulling her close and sliding his hand around her back. 

She grinned up at him as he held her flush to his chest. “Ooh. Very confident grip you have there, ser. I can see why the dastardly Grand Duchess was swooning over you.”

He chuckled as he began to move her in time to the music. “You’re an idiot.”

She giggled, then pressed herself onto her tiptoes, and her teasing voice drifted across his ear. “Only for you, Fenris,” she whispered. “Only for you.” 

He smiled as her lips grazed his cheekbone. Under the brilliant glow of the half-moon, Fenris led Hawke in a simple waltz. They spun in slow and careful turns on the balcony until their steps grew smaller and slower, and their bodies grew closer in a soft and tender embrace.

In the peaceful dark of night, Fenris closed his eyes and breathed in the warm perfume of Hawke’s hair. She was right: things were fixed for now, and that would have to do.

Fixing one thing at a time was all they could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Briala was in character! It's been a while since I read _The Masked Empire_. I love her, honestly.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	21. Unforeseen Delays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, didn't mean this chapter to be so long. But here, enjoy some quality Solas and Dorian time. And also... well, you'll see. ^_^

Hawke yawned and stretched her arms, then picked up her little pot of kohl and began lining her eyes. “So by the time we return to Skyhold, we should have a few days to relax before the wedding, barring any delays.” She inspected her reflection in the elaborately framed Orlesian mirror, then smiled excitedly at Fenris over her shoulder. “Do you think Isabela and the others will be there already by the time we get back?” 

“Perhaps,” Fenris said as he buckled his belt. “But for the Inquisition’s sake, I hope not.”

Hawke turned on her stool to stare at him. “Why?”

Fenris picked up his chestplate and smirked at her. “Isabela will try to loot the castle if we aren’t there. Aveline will try to arrest her, but she has no jurisdiction in Skyhold. Then Donnic will attempt to smooth things over…” He shook his head, then began strapping on his chestplate. “We’ll return to Skyhold to find a mess of shouting and misplaced valuables.”

Hawke smiled slowly at him, then turned around to face the mirror again. “You’re looking forward to seeing them,” she said. “Admit it.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “Seeing our friends will be the second-best thing about the day.” 

She shot him a brilliant smile, and Fenris smiled back at her. It was the morning after the debacle at the Winter Palace, and Fenris was in good spirits; they would soon be leaving this blasted palace and all its pretentious trappings behind. Cullen and his soldiers had departed at the crack of dawn, and Fenris was eager to get moving as well.

He selected a plain glazed bun from the tray of elaborate pastries that a palace servant had delivered to their room that morning, then took a small bite before picking up his gauntlets. “Come on, Hawke. Get dressed,” he said. “The others are likely waiting.” She was still wearing only her underclothes and a satin guest robe she’d found in the closet. 

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” she said absently. She finished lining her eyes, then rose to her feet and drifted over to her pack to dig out her travel clothes.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke as he walked over to the door. “I told you,” he drawled. It was likely Varric, come to find out what was taking them so long.

Hawke mockingly blew him a kiss. He shot her a chiding look, then opened the door, but it wasn’t Varric. 

It was Solas. Fenris lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Solas was frankly the last person that Fenris would have expected to come to their door.

He half-closed the door to obscure Hawke’s half-naked body from view. “Solas,” he said. “What is it?” 

“I would like to speak to Hawke, if I may,” Solas said. “It is a matter of some urgency.”

Fenris blinked in surprise. Before he could reply, Hawke was pulling the door wider and peering over his shoulder. “Hello, Solas!” she said. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” Solas said. Fenris pursed his lips slightly as Solas stepped past him and into their suite. 

Fenris closed the door and watched with growing wariness as Solas began to pace around the common area. He’d never seen Solas so agitated. The elven mage was usually the epitome of calm. 

Hawke shot Fenris a quick look of alarm, then drifted over to the coffee table. “Do you want some breakfast? A fancy Orlesian pastry? Some tea?”

“I will have tea, thank you,” he said. “I detest the stuff, but… this morning, I must shake the dreams from my mind.”

_Of course,_ Fenris thought with a hint of exasperation. Of course this had something to do with dreams or the Fade – whatever ‘this’ was. 

He folded his arms. “Something is clearly wrong. What is it?”

Solas glanced at Fenris, then nodded his thanks to Hawke as he took a cup and saucer from her hands. “I may need a favour,” he said to Hawke. “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages and forced into slavery. I heard a cry for help as I slept.”

Her eyes widened. “Captured by mages?”

“Slavery?” Fenris said sharply. 

Solas looked at him. “Yes,” he said. He gulped down the tea, then grimaced and placed the empty cup on the coffee table. 

“These mages. Are they Venatori?” Fenris demanded. “Seeking victims to fuel their blood magic?” 

“I cannot say if they are Venatori,” Solas said. “But they do not seek to perform blood magic.”

Fenris frowned. “How can you be sure?”

Solas ran a hand over his scalp. “Because my friend is a spirit of wisdom,” he said. 

Fenris wilted slightly as Solas continued to explain. “Unlike the spirits clamouring to enter our world through the rifts, my friend was dwelling quite happily in the Fade,” he said. “It was summoned against its will and wants my help to regain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

“How do you know it wasn’t attempting to push its way into our world through the rifts?” Fenris said. 

A tiny crease appeared between Solas’s eyebrows. “I have known it for… for most of my life. It is an explorer of the Fade, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically.”

“All right, Solas,” Hawke said. “So your spirit friend has been captured by mages. How can I help with that?”

“You can assist me in breaking the summoning circle and setting my friend free,” Solas said. “I… it is not something I think I can do alone.” He looked away and rubbed his chin, and Fenris silently studied the tension in his jaw. Solas was the consummate loner; he’d lived and travelled on his own for most of his life, and he never asked anyone for anything. This so-called spirit friend must be extremely important to him if he was asking Hawke for help.

Fenris pursed his lips. He probably shouldn’t feel so irritated by Solas’s request for help; Solas wasn’t the only elf in this room who’d reluctantly sought Hawke’s assistance, after all.

Solas took a deep breath, then turned back to Hawke. “I got a sense of my friend’s location before I woke. It is in the Exalted Plains. I hoped we might make a detour on our journey back to Skyhold.” 

Hawke shrugged and looked askance at Fenris. “I don’t see why not. It’s on the way home, after all.”

Fenris sighed quietly. “All right,” he grunted.

Solas’s eyebrows rose, and he bowed his head. “Thank you. Both of you,” he said. He glanced at Fenris. “I did not think you would wish to help.”

Fenris shrugged. He didn’t particularly care either way what happened with Solas’s spirit friend, but he was not letting Hawke out of his sight. 

“You should ask Dorian to help, too,” Hawke said. “I’m sure he knows more about this than I do. I’ve never broken a summoning circle before. It might be a nasty business.” She wafted back toward her travel pack, and to Fenris’s mild alarm, she discarded her robe. 

Fenris looked sharply at Solas, but the elven mage didn’t seem interested in Hawke’s near-nudity. “No,” Solas said firmly. “Dorian’s help is not necessary.”

Hawke paused in the act of pulling on her trousers. “Why not? The more mages, the merrier.”

Fenris huffed softly. “Famous last words, if ever I’ve heard them,” he muttered.

Hawke stuck her tongue out at him, and Solas ignored him to frown at Hawke. “Dorian is from Tevinter. He practices the binding of spirits himself. He happily keeps spirits as slaves!” He began to pace in front of the coffee table again. “He treats Cole as an oddity, not as a person. He… he will not understand what I wish to do.”

Hawke tilted her head thoughtfully as she tucked her shirt into her trousers. “Well, maybe you can consider this a learning opportunity for him. And honestly, Solas, we could use the backup. Just to make sure we have enough strength to take the summoning circle down.” She raised her eyebrows persuasively. 

Solas frowned more deeply, but he bowed his head. “As you wish. I will find him and inform him of our plans.” He nodded politely to Fenris once more, then left the room.

Fenris watched as Solas quietly closed the door behind him, then gave Hawke a pointed look. 

She was humming to herself as she pulled on her boots. She looked up and met his gaze, then widened her eyes. “What?”

“I would qualify this as an unforeseen delay,” Fenris said flatly.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it won’t take long,” she said. “Even if we swing by the Exalted Plains, we’ll still have at least a day at Skyhold before the wedding.”

Fenris shot her a deeply skeptical look. She grinned and skipped over to him, then twined her arms around his neck. “Oh come on, Fenris, it doesn’t hurt to help a friend.”

He raised an eyebrow at her winning little smile. “That is almost never true.”

She laughed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. But it’ll be interesting! Meeting an actual friend of Solas’s?” She wiggled her eyebrows in interest. “You can learn a lot about a person by meeting their friends.” 

She released him and picked up her travelling cloak, and Fenris smirked and folded his arms. “So what did people learn about you by observing all of us chasing after you in Kirkwall?” 

“That I’m the most interesting woman they’ve ever met, obviously,” she said promptly. She fastened her travelling cloak, then stroked her chin thoughtfully. “And possibly also that I’m insane.” She smiled mischievously at him as she picked up her pack and her staff. “I wonder what people think about _you_ now that they’re meeting all of _your_ friends?”

“They are more your friends than mine,” he said. He opened the door and stood back to let her pass. 

She stopped and chidingly pinched his chin. Her gaze was warm and fond. “You keep saying that,” she said softly. “We both know it’s not true.”

Fenris shrugged, and Hawke’s smile widened slightly. Then she playfully chucked his chin. “Now come on, we’re running late,” she said. “I’m going to have to tell everyone how it took you fucking forever to get dressed…”

He rolled his eyes in fond exasperation as they made their way to the grand foyer to meet the others. This stop in the Exalted Plains might be an unanticipated delay, but at least it was on the way. Hopefully Solas’s spirit problem would be resolved with the minimum of fuss.

****************

Two days later, Fenris, Hawke, Dorian, Cole and Solas were making their way across the grassy plains toward the place where Solas’s friend had allegedly been captured. The rest of their group had gone to inform the remaining Orlesian soldiers of the official end to the civil war, as well as to investigate the so-called ‘freemen’ who had been murdering and pillaging in the nearby settlements. They’d all agreed to meet up at the end of the day along the south bank of the river to camp for the night before continuing on to Skyhold. 

Solas was deep in conversation with Hawke, telling her about the mechanics of summoning circles and how best to break them without causing a backlash of wild magic. Fenris was purposely hanging back, unwilling to engage with Solas in a conversation about magic. Nothing good had come of the last few times he’d spoken about magic with Solas.

Dorian seemed to have decided to keep Fenris company rather than conversing with Hawke and Solas. To Fenris’s disgruntlement, however, Dorian wouldn’t leave him alone about what he was planning to wear for the wedding.

“I still can’t believe you refused our dear ambassador’s offer to have something made for you by an Antivan tailor,” Dorian lamented. “The Antivan tailors are second best only to ours, you know. Hidden pockets aren’t their only specialties.” He tapped his chin. “Though now that I think of it, the hidden pockets may, in fact, explain why Josephine’s sleeves are so large. Glorious, don’t get me wrong, but _very_ large.”

Fenris huffed as they made their way along the river. “If by ‘our’ tailors you mean Tevinter tailors, I wouldn’t know about that,” he said flatly. “They are not exactly in the business of making custom-fitted tunics for slaves.” In truth, Danarius had had a few pieces of clothing custom-made for Fenris, particularly for showing off Fenris’s gold-plated cuffs and collar during his cursed dinner parties. But Fenris wasn’t about to remind Dorian of this. 

Now that Fenris thought of it, perhaps this was why he was balking at the idea of having something custom-made. 

Dorian tutted. “You’re not a slave anymore, Fenris. There’s no need to dress like one.” Dorian eyed Fenris’s functional travel clothes and armour with a hint of disappointment. “I suppose it could be worse. At least you’re not going for the ‘apostate hobo’ look like _some_ members of our party.”

“I heard you,” Solas called over his shoulder. 

Dorian widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Solas! You startled me. You're always so… nondescript.”

“Please speak up. I cannot hear you over your outfit,” Solas said briskly. Then he pointedly turned away.

Dorian chuckled. “Frankly, I think he’s jealous of my hair,” he said confidentially to Fenris. “That’s why he’s always so shirty with me.”

Fenris ignored this remark. “I will not have something tailor-made,” he said firmly. “Think of something else, or stop talking about this.” 

Dorian’s eyebrows jumped high on his forehead. “Ah! So you _are_ willing to accept my help, as long as the garment isn’t tailor-made?”

Fenris shrugged moodily. “I suppose I can’t wear armour at my wedding.”

“You’ll wear armour at this wedding over my dead body,” Dorian announced. He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the thing. It’ll match Hawke’s dress.”

Fenris looked at him in genuine surprise. “Hawke’s…? She will be wearing a dress, then? You – you’ve seen it?”

Dorian grinned at him. “That is the most interest I’ve seen you express about this wedding since I heard about it.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Dorian laughed. “Of course she’ll be wearing a dress. She’s not a complete barbarian.” 

“I heard that!” Hawke turned around and shot Dorian a cheeky smile. “Should I sic Toby on you when we get back to Skyhold? Show you just how much of a Ferelden barbarian I really am?”

“Thank you, but no,” Dorian retorted. “Mabari drool leaves stains that are a horror to get out.” He casually brushed a nonexistent bit of dirt from his elegant sleeve. 

Hawke chuckled, then turned back to Solas and Cole while Dorian returned his attention to Fenris. “I haven’t seen the dress, but I heard her describing the design to Josephine,” Dorian said. “At least one of you has the sense to get something custom-made.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. “I do think you’ll like it.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said nonchalantly. His eyes traced idly over Hawke’s lightly-armoured back. He hoped the dress she’d chosen was backless.

Dorian studied him for a second, then chuckled and shook his head. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “What?” he said flatly. “What inconsequential topic are you going to aggravate me about now?”

Dorian dramatically placed one hand on his chest. “Me? Aggravate _you?_ I would never.”

Fenris raised one sardonic eyebrow, and Dorian’s expression grew serious. He shrugged. “I was simply thinking that it will be nice,” he said. “To see a wedding where the people getting married actually, you know, enjoy one another’s company.”

Fenris murmured an acknowledgement of this. Dorian had casually mentioned his parents’ unhappy marriage, and Dorian’s implications matched Fenris’s general impression of upper-class Tevinter weddings, from what he’d seen. 

Then he shot Dorian a sharp glance. “You’re still not invited to the ceremony,” he said warningly. “Only Varric and–” 

“I know, I know,” Dorian said impatiently. “I mean your tavern party after. You’ll wear your wedding clothes to the party, at least?”

Fenris shrugged. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Good,” Dorian said. “Then everyone can see what excellent taste I have. I plan on telling everyone you’re wearing something of mine.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. Then Solas came to an abrupt halt. “My friend!” he gasped. Then he scrambled away over the moss-covered boulders that lined the edges of the river.

Suddenly on alert, Fenris and the others hurried after Solas. They clambered up a small hill, then Fenris stopped short at the sight before them, forcing Hawke to bump into him. 

“ _Venhedis,_ ” he snarled. 

“Oh shit,” Hawke said. “Well, that’s a demon.”

“That is most definitely a demon,” Dorian confirmed. 

Solas spun toward them. His face was crumpled with anger. “That is not its natural form. It has been corrupted!” he snapped.

Fenris scowled and folded his arms. “You mean to tell us that this monster was your friend?” He jerked his chin at the enormous pride demon. It was centered between four large crystalline-looking stones, and Fenris could feel a faint snap of energy in the air: likely an artifact of whatever magic was keeping the demon contained.

“It _is_ my friend,” Solas snarled, and Fenris drew back slightly. He’d never seen Solas this irate before.

Solas scrubbed a hand over his bare scalp and began to pace. Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Confused, caught and captured,” he whispered. “Can’t move, can’t stop, can’t come or go, _em halani lethallin_ –”

“They forced it to act against its original purpose,” Solas ranted. “What did they do, what did they do, what did they do…” He stopped and glared over Fenris’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should ask!”

Fenris turned around. An exhausted-looking mage was approaching them, and sitting on the ground behind him were three other mages in dirty Circle robes. 

The new mage gazed at Hawke with wide, hopeful eyes. “The Champion of Kirkwall!” he exclaimed in relief. “Surely you can help us! Do you have any lyrium potion? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon–”

Solas took an aggressive step toward him. “You summoned that demon!” he shouted. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at a time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose!”

The mage’s smile faded, and he lifted his hands. “I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons,” he said in a soothing voice. “But–” 

Solas swelled with rage, and Hawke coughed delicately. “You might want to hold off on telling our bald friend here anything about demons,” she said to the Circle mage. “This lovely demon here is his friend, after all.” 

Her tone was light and playful, but Fenris could see her apprehension as she eyed the demon, and he could hardly blame her. They’d fought so many demons by now that Fenris had lost count, but Fenris was the only significant muscle in their current party, and this particular demon was an exceptionally large one… 

The mage shook his head and lifted his hands once more. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle–”

“Shut up,” Solas growled. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Solas’s fury was a nearly-palpable aura in the air, and the Kirkwall mage cowered as Solas took another slow step closer. “You summoned the spirit to protect you from the bandits,” he said quietly.

The mage took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes.”

Solas pointed imperiously at the demon. “You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill,” he said. “That’s when it turned. _You_ are responsible for any acts it may have committed.” He turned to Hawke. “The plan remains,” he said. “We break the summoning circle, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.” 

Solas’s voice was commanding and hard. Fenris scowled at his uncharacteristic tone, and the Kirkwall mage gasped in horror. “ _What?_ But… but the binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us!” he said plaintively. “Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

Dorian pulled a little face. “I have to agree with our sorry little Kirkwall friend here, Solas. The demon–”

Solas spun toward him. “You don’t get to speak here,” he snarled. “You have been just as guilty yourself. Enslaving spirits, forcing them to do your bidding – this is common currency in _your_ land.” He jabbed a finger at Dorian. “You do not get to speak. You are here to lend your assistance, not your _opinions._ ”

Dorian recoiled, his face twisting with offense, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “It _is_ a demon,” he told Solas bluntly. “It is no different than the ones that pour through the rifts.”

“No!” Solas snapped. “That is false! It – you –” He ran his palm over his scalp once more, then glared at Fenris. “You saw the spirits in Old Crestwood. _You_ saw how benign they can be, that they don’t all wish to be trapped here in this mundane world. You _helped_ that spirit of command! Cole fights by your side every day! How can you not see that this is no different?”

His voice was growing increasingly agitated. Hawke gently squeezed his arm. “Solas,” she said in a neutral tone, “Your friend could kill us. You see that, right? While we’re breaking the summoning circle, it could look at us and think, ‘oh, some puny little mages, I’ll eat them for breakfast’.” 

“That will not happen,” Solas yelled. “I _know_ this spirit. This is not what it wants.”

“You are willing to risk all of our lives on that?” Fenris said archly. 

Solas rubbed his face roughly, then looked at Hawke. “It will not kill us if we are quick and careful,” he insisted. “Please. Help me break the summoning circle.” 

Dorian folded his arms. “I don’t recommend this.”

“Nor do I,” Fenris said. 

Hawke blew out a breath. Solas took a step closer to her. “Hawke, _please,_ ” he said insistently. 

She nibbled her lip, and Fenris shook his head irritably. A friend pleading with Hawke to do something extremely dangerous? Hawke had only one response for this type of scenario, and it was as inevitable as sunrise. 

He pulled his greatsword from the sheath on his back. “This is a mistake,” he told her. 

Hawke grimaced. “It always is, isn’t it?” She pulled her staff from her back as well. 

“Wha– hang on a minute,” Dorian said. “Did I black out for a moment? Am I missing something here?”

Hawke shot him an apologetic look, then turned to Solas. “All right. Let’s break the fucking summoning stones.” 

Solas wilted in relief. “Thank you–”

Fenris stepped forward. “If the demon comes close to harming Hawke, I will kill it,” he growled. 

“I beg your pardon,” Dorian protested. “What about me? I’m too young and beautiful to die.” 

Fenris rolled his eyes, then glared at Solas. “Cole and I will keep the demon distracted,” he said. “You three focus on the damned summoning stones. If the demon so much as looks the wrong way at Hawke or Dorian–”

“How sweet. I knew you cared,” Dorian said, and Fenris shot him a dirty look. 

Solas huffed in disgust. “If you insist,” he said impatiently. “Now come. We must hurry!”

They bolted toward the summoning circle. Solas, Dorian, and Hawke positioned themselves at a higher elevation out of reach, and Fenris and Cole readied themselves at the edge of the summoning circle.

Cole gazed vacantly up at the demon, and Fenris frowned at him. “Keep its attention,” he instructed quietly. “Don’t hide too much. We must keep its eyes on us to keep the others safe.”

Cole grasped his daggers more firmly. “Yes. Keep the others safe,” he repeated. 

Fenris nodded in satisfaction, then looked up at the rise where Hawke and the others were standing. Her expression was utterly serious as she met his eye, and she held up three fingers. 

Fenris nodded sharply, then adjusted his grip on his sword and counted down from three. 

On the count of one, the magical hum of the summoning circle disappeared. The demon straightened to its full height and released a diabolical laugh. 

“Cover its left flank,” Fenris snapped at Cole. Then he phased directly in front of the demon. 

The demon stared down at him, then growled and reached for him with one huge clawed hand. Fenris poked the demon in the knee, and it swiped at him.

He dodged back with the help of his lyrium marks. Then Cole appeared behind the demon and smacked its left leg with the flat of his blade. 

The demon spun toward him with a snarl. Together, Fenris and Cole kept the demon occupied, irritating and taunting it with shouts and prods from their weapons while Hawke, Dorian, and Solas worked on dismantling the magic of the summoning stones. 

One of the stones abruptly shattered, and the demon shuddered and fell to one knee. Fenris glanced over at Hawke and the others; her face was creased with concentration as she and Dorian listened to Solas, who was speaking urgently to them and gesturing at another stone. 

Fenris hefted his sword, then phased behind the demon and smacked its rump with the flat of his blade. “This way, you cursed creature,” he snarled. “Come and face me.” 

The demon heaved itself to its feet once more, then raised its arms, and three wicked-looking lashes of electricity bloomed from its enormous wrists.

Fenris growled in disgust, then glowered up at the demon. “Come on, then,” he roared. “Approach me if you dare!” 

The demon took a thundering step toward him, and Cole appeared beneath it and jabbed its ankle, causing it to stumble and snarl in anger. Together they continued taunting the demon until there was only one summoning stone left. 

Then the demon turned toward Hawke and the others and raised its lightning-laden whips. 

A bolt of panic surged through Fenris’s chest. He darted in front of the demon and swung his blade purposely at the demon’s shin.

His strike hit true. The demon shrieked in pain, and Solas looked up. 

“Solas,” Hawke yelled. “Come on, pay attention!”

Her voice was tight with strain, and a fresh surge of concern kicked Fenris’s heart rate even higher. He phased toward the demon and slammed his pommel into its knee, then darted behind it. “Demon!” he roared. “See me!” 

Cole appeared beside him. “Try to catch me,” he said to the demon, then he darted toward it and slashed its knee. 

The demon raised its whips, and Fenris and Cole both phased behind it as the whips came lashing down with a hair-raising hum of power. Fenris gritted his teeth in concentration, his attention split between keeping the demon busy and the fear-inducing pallor of Hawke’s face as she, Dorian and Solas worked on the final stone. 

Fenris’s chest was heaving with exertion from the effort of _not_ killing the demon. Keeping it distracted while dodging its whips and _not_ seriously harming it was taking its toll, and finally the strain became too much: one of the demon’s lightning-laced whips licked across the back of Fenris’s calf before he could phase away. 

He stumbled to one knee with a grunt. The demon raised its whips, and Hawke’s cry of alarm met his pounding ears. “ _Fenris!_ ”

Then three things happened at once. Dorian’s vibrant barrier sprang up around Fenris’s kneeling form; a cage of shimmering white light appeared around the demon; and the final summoning stone shattered with a ground-shuddering _crack_. 

The demon collapsed inside Hawke’s signature cage of light. Fenris sneered at it as he gingerly rose to his feet, and a minute later, Hawke was beside him and gripping his arm. 

“Shit,” she hissed. She rifled in one of her belt pouches with shaking hands. “Let me find you some elfroot…”

He shook his head. “I don’t need it,” he said. The wound on his calf felt merely like a superficial burn, and Fenris was more annoyed than injured.

He cupped Hawke’s precious pale face in his hands. That magical cage of light was her strongest and most mana-sapping spell. “You need lyrium,” he told her firmly. “Take some now.” He looked at Dorian, who was approaching them and looking rather worn himself. “You need some as well,” he added. 

Dorian sighed and nodded his thanks as Hawke handed him a small bottle of lyrium draught. “I believe a bottle of wine would serve me better at this point, but this will do,” he said. He and Hawke gulped their potions quickly.

Then Cole spoke. “Freed, but fading fast. You were quick, but not quick enough.”

Dorian tutted. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Cole.”

Hawke suddenly grabbed Fenris’s hand and Dorian’s shoulder. “Maker’s balls,” she breathed. “Look.” 

Fenris and Dorian followed her gaze. In the spot where the demon was hunched over just a moment ago, there was… a woman. A hazy, glowing, incorporeal woman… 

Fenris’s jaw dropped in genuine surprise. It was unmistakably a spirit. As they stood staring, small wisps of the spirit’s humanoid form began to drift apart, like smoke dissipating into the air. 

Solas slowly kneeled in front of the spirit. “ _Lethallan,_ ” he rasped. “ _Ir abelas._ ” 

His face was tight with grief. Solas and the spirit spoke together in Elvhen, and Hawke winced. “Damn. This is awkward. I’m glad I can’t understand what they’re talking about,” she whispered. 

Dorian looked dumbfounded. For once, he seemed to be lacking in witty rejoinders. Fenris shot him a sharp look. “You have never seen anything like this before?” he asked. 

Dorian shook his head. “The spirits we bind at home are not like that, I assure you,” he said. “They don’t talk or… they don’t seem to think. If they had, I…” 

He trailed off and rubbed his mouth, and Fenris frowned more deeply. He glanced at Cole, who was standing slightly apart from them and watching Solas’s conversation with his usual vacant expression. 

“He was right,” Hawke said softly. 

Fenris looked at her. Her eyes were wide as she studied Solas. “That demon literally turned into a spirit,” she said. She looked up at Fenris. “I sort of thought he was being metaphorical, you know, with his ‘spirits and demons are the same and also not’ business. Like it’s a continuum of demon-ness or something. But that transformation happened in the blink of an eye. That’s…” She shook her head. “That’s… incredible.” 

Fenris didn’t reply. He was feeling rather nonplussed himself. Solas always spoke about how demons were a corrupted reflection of spirits, but Fenris hadn’t seen any conclusive evidence to prove his theories true. Even Cole’s presence hadn’t provided much clarity on the matter. Though Sera and Cullen called Cole a demon – and Fenris did too, at times – the strange boy’s behaviour thus far had been largely without reproach. There was no reason to think Cole wasn’t just a spirit in human form. 

Now, to see the proof so clearly – proof that spirits and demons were, in fact, one and the same… 

Fenris rubbed his hair. This went against Chantry teachings. It contradicted the beliefs of almost everyone that Fenris had ever met – everyone except Merrill, who had said similar things about spirits and demons, once upon a time. 

But if Solas was right, and spirits could be corrupted into demons… 

He frowned at Cole, who was still hovering nearby and watching Solas’s conversation. Then he turned his gaze back to Solas. 

The elven mage was reaching toward the spirit, and a gentle green glow of magic was emanating from his palms. The spirit tilted her – _its_ – head back, and Fenris caught a fleeting look of joy on its face before it dissolved away to nothing.

Solas didn’t move. For a long moment he remained still and silent, alone on the bank of the river. Hawke released Fenris’s hand, then stepped away from him and walked quietly over to Solas’s side. 

Fenris and Dorian slowly drew closer as Hawke crouched beside him. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry, Solas. That was really… um, shitty.”

Solas didn’t reply. Fenris shifted his weight awkwardly as the ugly silence stretched on. 

Then Cole drifted over and sat on the riverbank beside Solas. “Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn't be,” he said dreamily.

Solas inhaled slowly and looked at Cole. “Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would?” he asked.

Cole tilted his head and gazed at the burbling river. “He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care, in search of wisdom. We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost: forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder.” His empty gaze drifted up to the cloudless sky. “In his own way, he knew wisdom as no man or spirit had before.”

Solas released a tremulous breath and bowed his head. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

For a long, tense moment, no one spoke or moved. Then Hawke reached out and squeezed Solas’s shoulder. 

He lifted his face and finally looked at her. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “We gave my friend a moment’s peace before the end. That’s more than she might have had.” He rose to his feet, and a fresh scowl creased his face as he watched the Kirkwall mages’ approach. “All that remains now is _them_ ,” he growled.

The mage who was acting as their spokesperson stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “We would not have risked the summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.” 

Solas stepped aggressively toward him. “You tortured and killed my friend,” he snarled.

To Fenris’s alarm, a ball of fire was forming in Solas’s palm. The Kirkwall mage stumbled back. “W-we didn’t know it was just a spirit,” he stammered. “The – the book said it could help us!”

Solas curled his lip. His expression was uncharacteristically feral, but also oddly familiar to Fenris. Before Fenris quite realized what he was going to say, he opened his mouth.

“Stop,” he commanded. “Do not kill them.”

Solas shot him a filthy look. “Why shouldn’t I? They murdered an innocent!”

“I’m sorry! Please, we didn’t know!” the Kirkwall mage bleated.

Fenris ignored him and stared at Solas. “Killing these mages will not undo what has been done.”

“It is justice. It will make me feel better,” Solas snarled.

_Justice,_ Fenris thought. Quick flashes of memory sprang to his mind: an image of Anders’ glowing eyes, then Hadriana’s lifeless corpse, and Fenris’s own unbridled rage that her death had failed to assuage. 

He took a step closer to Solas. “This is not justice,” he said. “This is vengeance. And it will fix nothing.” 

Solas’s expression was twisted with anger. “I do not believe this,” he expostulated. “If you were in my position, you know you would do the same. If Hawke were murdered through an act of sheer ignorance, do not pretend you wouldn’t commit your life to avenging her!” 

Fenris glared at him. He couldn’t reply, because he wasn’t certain that Solas was wrong.

Then Hawke stepped in. “Solas, think about this for a minute,” she said. “Killing them won’t solve anything. They didn’t know better. You could teach them, train them–”

He spun on her. “Train them in what?” he shouted. “The binding of spirits? The chaining of slaves? How very predictable of you.”

Her jaw dropped in shock, and Dorian whistled softly. Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Watch your tongue, mage,” he growled. 

Solas’s lip curled, and Hawke lifted her chin. “I was going to suggest that you educate them about the nature of spirits and demons,” she said coolly. “If you tried being as patient with them as you’ve been with me, instead of acting like an angry asshole, perhaps they’ll actually learn something, and they won’t do it again.”

“There is no point,” Solas shouted. “I have tried to… I – I have tried, and there is no point.”

“If there’s no point, then what are you even doing with the Inquisition?” Hawke asked. “Why did you accept the position of co-leader of the rebel mages if there’s no point?”

Solas turned away. His shoulders were heaving with fury, and Fenris watched him carefully until his posture gradually relaxed. 

He looked at the Kirkwall mages, who shirked away from him in fear. “Never again,” he hissed. Then he looked at Hawke and Fenris.

He was obviously still angry, but when he spoke, his voice was calm once more. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.” Without waiting for their response, he strode away to the north. 

Dorian folded his arms as they watched Solas’s departure. “Who would like to bet that he won’t come back?” He looked at Fenris and Hawke. “No takers? Shame that Varric isn’t here.”

“I wish he was,” Hawke lamented. “He’s good at smoothing things over. He probably could have talked him into staying.”

_Do we want him to stay?_ Fenris thought bitterly. Solas’s unfettered rage, his unfair accusations about Hawke… it was too familiar to Fenris, uncomfortably familiar for so many reasons, and he was frankly glad that Solas was gone. 

He turned to the Kirkwall mages. “You summoned a demon,” he said. “You used magic that you don’t understand, and you placed all our lives at risk, including your own.” He lifted his chin. “That won’t go unpunished.” 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?” she said warily. 

He eyed the scared-looking little pack of mages. “Confiscate their staves, perhaps,” he said. “Stop them from practicing magic.” 

Hawke folded her arms, and Dorian scoffed. “That’s as good as committing them to death, you know,” he said. “They’re defenseless without staves. More defenseless than they already are, I should say.” 

Fenris scowled at Dorian and Hawke. “Solas was right about one thing. These mages are ignorant. They can’t be left to wander in the Dales on their own.” He waved angrily at the mages. “Leave them to their own devices, and soon they will be slitting their wrists for power and calling it self-defense.”

“They won’t wander the Dales alone,” Hawke said firmly. “I meant it about teaching them. They can join the Inquisition, and we’ll train them up until they’re not stupid anymore.” 

Fenris glared at her. “I don’t want these imbeciles joining the Inquisition,” he said.

Hawke scowled at him in return. “Well, it’s not entirely up to you. You made me a co-leader of the rebel mages, and the rebel mages are your _allies_ , not your subordinates.”

Fenris stared at her with growing ire. Dorian coughed delicately and edged away. “I’m just going to go speak to Cole there…”

Fenris ignored him as he slipped away. “Hawke,” he growled, “I do not like this.”

“Fenris, _I’ll_ teach them,” she said quietly. “I’ll fix this. It’s better than letting them wander the wilds on their own.” She squeezed his hand. “Do you trust me?”

He scowled at her, then exhaled sharply. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me with this,” she said softly. “Let me try to do something useful for once. Aside from looking pretty.” She smiled winningly at him. 

He shot her a chiding look, and she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Then he turned to the Kirkwall mages. “You are officially wards of the Inquisition, until Hawke deems you fit for service,” he said. He pointed to the west. “Go to the nearest Inquisition camp. Our companion Cole will accompany you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do not even think about trying to sneak away.”

The head mage swallowed hard. “Y-yes, Inquisitor. Champion,” he said, and he bowed nervously to them both. “Who… who did you say will accompany us?”

Fenris glanced over at the river, where Dorian was teaching Cole to skip stones. “Cole,” he barked. 

Cole looked up, and the Kirkwall mage jumped. “Wha– where did he come from?” he exclaimed. 

Fenris frowned at the mage as Cole approached them. “This is Cole,” Fenris said. “Do not speak to him. Do not perform any magic around him. He will protect you if any bandits happen upon you.” He gave Cole a stern look. “They are weak. Keep them safe until you arrive at the camp.”

“All right,” Cole said. He smiled vaguely at the terrified-looking mages as they walked away to the west. “Nugs are kind,” he said to one of them. “Almost everything is bigger than they, but they're still happy. If you hold out your hand, they will nuzzle it. It's how they call you ‘friend’."

Fenris shook his head in exasperation, and Dorian chuckled. “He is a puzzle, that one. If anyone tried to bind him, I bet he would simply sit there and tell them how nice their summoning stones were.” 

Hawke huffed. “After seeing this shitshow? If anyone tries to bind him, _I’ll_ kill them,” she said. “Binding Cole would be like tying down a baby nug. It would just be plain mean.”

Fenris frowned slightly as he, Dorian, and Hawke slowly wandered in the direction of their rendez-vous point with the others. “This means Cole could become a demon, then,” he said. 

Hawke pursed her lips. “I… suppose,” she admitted. “But Solas said he’d have to come in contact with corrupting forces.” She glanced askance at Dorian and Fenris. “What do you think would corrupt him? He sees all the worst things that nobody else sees. People’s secret pain and guilt and all that stuff. But he’s still the perfect little helper. If all that awful shit doesn’t corrupt him, what would?”

Fenris shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Solas also said that most spirits embody some… some value, or virtue. We should find out exactly what sort of spirit Cole is. Then we can keep him away from corrupting influences.” 

“Well, that’s easy. He’s a spirit of helping, of course,” Hawke said. 

Fenris twisted his lips. That seemed too simple, somehow.

Dorian seemed to agree with him; he frowned thoughtfully and stroked his chin. “I think it’s a bit more subtle than that. Sometimes he says things that aren’t, um…” He swallowed. “....that are not particularly helpful. Or… perhaps not in the way he hopes.” 

Hawke slipped her hand through Dorian’s elbow and squeezed his arm. Fenris gave Hawke a warning look. “If Cole should ever turn, you know what must happen,” he reminded her quietly. “He asked for it himself–”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “He won’t turn. He’ll be fine. Solas will tell us how to stop anything bad from happening to him.” 

Fenris and Dorian exchanged a wary look. Then Dorian addressed Hawke. “You truly think Solas will come back to Skyhold?”

“Of course he will,” she said confidently. “He’s angry now, but he’ll calm down. He’s calm about ninety-five percent of the time. He doesn’t have the capacity to stay angry for that much longer.”

Her expression and her tone were cheerful, and she was refusing to look at him or Dorian. It was classic Hawke behaviour: acting like everything was fine when one of her friends walked away. 

Fenris gently stroked her back, but he couldn’t help but wonder when exactly she and Solas had become so friendly. They’d probably grown close through their work with the rebel mages; they did spend a lot of time together in that capacity, after all. But whenever Fenris saw them together, Solas always seemed to be lecturing at her, and Fenris genuinely wasn’t sure how she tolerated it. 

_Perhaps she sees him as a father figure,_ he thought. That would make sense, given Hawke’s history as her own father’s magical pupil.

If that was the case, it would make Solas’s abandonment even more difficult for her to bear. 

Fenris nibbled the inside of his cheek before speaking. “Solas was… exceptionally angry,” he said carefully. “This might be more than he can tolerate.”

Hawke shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think he’ll come back.” Suddenly she gasped and pointed to the riverbank. “Andraste’s tit, look! It’s that golden halla!”

“What?” Fenris said, thrown off by her non-sequitur. He followed the direction of her pointing finger. 

Sure enough, a halla with golden hair and horns was drinking from the river. It looked up at them, then cantered away to the east. 

Hawke looked up at Fenris with a grin. “Let’s get it back to that Dalish camp!” she said brightly.

Fenris wilted in exasperation. “You know I’m not fond of the Dalish. I don’t particularly want–”

“Oh come on, Fenris, they were way nicer than Merrill’s clan,” she said. “I’m going to chase the golden halla. I dare you to join me!” She bolted away in the halla’s wake.

Fenris watched her running away, then rubbed his face. “ _Fasta vass._ ” 

Dorian, meanwhile, was chuckling. “ _Venhedis,_ she’s something else,” he said. “Look at her! Oh, the sheer lack of dignity…” He sighed dramatically.

Fenris shook his head. “In less than a week, that will be my wife,” he told Dorian.

Dorian looked at him. They both looked at Hawke as she tried in vain to catch up to the fleet-footed halla. Then Dorian burst into laughter.

Fenris smirked, then rubbed his mouth and folded his arms. “ _Kaffas_ , Dorian, collect yourself.”

Dorian was bent double with mirth. “Your wife,” he rasped, “the shemlen halla-wrangler.”

Fenris couldn’t help it. He laughed. Dorian plopped himself down in the dirt, now positively wheezing with laughter, and for a moment they forgot the drama of the situation as they laughed together and watched Hawke awkwardly chasing the halla across the grassy landscape. 

Eventually Dorian calmed down and stood up, and Hawke managed to chivvy the unruly halla back to the Dalish camp. Fenris fondly watched from afar as she spoke to the Dalish, charming them despite their suspicions and her race. 

“Oh, how entertaining the south is,” Dorian said happily. “The things I’ve learned since I’ve been here. Aside from how damned cold it always seems to be.” He rubbed his half-bare arms and looked at Fenris. “Weren’t you cold when you left the Imperium?”

Fenris shrugged. “I was, yes. But I grew to like it, in time. Besides, freedom is worth far more than warm weather.”

Dorian grimaced slightly. “Ah. Right.” He was silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “So this whole summoning-circle debacle was a first. I’ve been binding spirits since I could hold a staff, and none of the spirits I worked with back home looked like that.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “They didn’t look like what? Like humans? Like _you_?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “No. No, they didn’t.”

Fenris looked away toward the Dalish camp once more. Something Solas had said earlier today was nibbling at his brain: something about the binding of spirits being akin to slavery. Fenris had dismissed the words at the time, preoccupied as he’d been with keeping everyone safe and alive, but the words returned to his mind now as he eyed Dorian’s calm face from the corner of his eye. 

“The spirits you bound,” Fenris said. “Did they ever try to escape? Did they ever say they didn’t wish to be bound?”

Dorian slowly twisted one of the silver rings on his right hand. “Well, they didn’t speak, so no.” He paused, and Fenris waited while he ran his thumb over his rings. “Sometimes they struggled, or tried to escape the binding at first.” He met Fenris’s gaze. “But it’s like trapping animals for a menagerie. They’re agitated at first because they don’t understand. But if you show them no harm, they calm down. They even become friendly most of the time.”

Fenris stared at his earnest face. Dorian’s answer was benign, but something about it made Fenris feel uncomfortable.

“And if they don’t calm down?” Fenris said. “If they continue to be… agitated?”

Dorian’s expression was growing apprehensive. “We reinforce the bindings until they become compliant,” he said.

Fenris licked his lips, then looked away. An unpleasant feeling was starting to bubble in his belly – a feeling of irritation that he hadn’t felt in some time, not since he and Dorian had first been reacquainted.

Dorian sighed. “Look, I don’t believe that all spirits are as advanced and… and thoughtful as Solas says. I mean, Cole certainly is. But not all spirits are like Cole.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He couldn’t look at Dorian. The ways Dorian described binding spirits, and the ugly parallels that were drawing themselves in Fenris’s head...

The silence between them was heavy with tension. Then Dorian spoke again. “Perhaps I’ll stop the practice while I’m here.” He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps… perhaps even indefinitely. The, er, bound spirits are useful, but I suppose I can peel my own grapes and wash my own feet. You know what they say: while in the south, do as the barbarians do. Or don’t do, as the case may be.”

His tone was determinedly jocular. Fenris glanced briefly at him, then looked away again. “That may be for the best,” he said.

Dorian nodded, and they fell silent once more. By the time Hawke rejoined them with flushed cheeks and happy smile, most of the tension had left Fenris’s shoulders. 

“Good news,” she said. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “One of the Dalish scouts wants to join us the Inquisition, but her Keeper won’t let her because he thinks we’re a bunch of Chantry-loving shems. If we do a few little Dalish-friendly things–”

Fenris sighed. “Hawke…”

“Hear me out,” she pleaded. “They’re simple things. Find someone’s brother, clear a graveyard of demons, and rustle up some supplies. Easy stuff.”

“Oh goody, more demons,” Dorian drawled. “You certainly know how to show a man a good time.”

Fenris had to agree. “This will take at least an extra day,” he complained. “I want to return to Skyhold.”

“It won’t take that long,” Hawke wheedled. “I bet we can do it all today.” She winked at Dorian. “You’re a betting man. I hear you and Varric talking. How about it, Vint? Two royals that we can win over the Dalish in a single day?”

Dorian scoffed. “You’re on, barbarian. As long as our glorious leader joins us.”

Fenris gave them both a reproving look, then sighed. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum._ All right, let’s get this over with.”

Hawke clapped her hands, and she and Dorian began poking fun at each other as they headed toward the haunted elven graveyard. 

_‘We’ll just swing by the Exalted Plains quickly’, she says,_ Fenris thought wryly. And naturally, things hadn’t gone as Hawke had planned.

For her sake if nothing else, Fenris hoped that Solas would come back.

*********************

When Fenris and the others returned to Skyhold three days later, Josephine was practically frothing with anxiety when she met them in the courtyard. 

“Lady Rynne!” she exclaimed. She ignored Fenris completely and hooked her hand through Hawke’s elbow. “Your dress arrived days ago. We must make sure it fits. Please come with me.”

Hawke looked at Fenris in alarm as Josephine pulled her arm. “Josie, hang on,” she protested. “We just got back, I haven’t dropped off my things, I–”

“There is no time,” Josephine insisted. “Leave your things with Fenris. A messenger will carry them to your room.”

“But–” Hawke protested.

Josephine planted her hands on her hips. “Lady Rynne, the wedding is tomorrow,” she said severely. “We must do your dress fitting right now, in case alterations are needed.”

Fenris watched with growing amusement as Hawke cringed away from the ambassador’s steely stare. “All right, fine,” she said hastily. “Andraste’s tits, you’re a scary little thing. Let’s go, then.” 

Fenris took her staff and travel pack. “Enjoy yourself,” he called. 

She shot him a dirty look as Josephine dragged her away. Dorian chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “And _you_ , my good man, should come to my quarters and look at the tunic I’m going to lend you. You’ll probably need it taken in.” 

Fenris shook his head. “Not now. I will find you later in the library.” He hefted Hawke’s pack onto his shoulder and headed for the stairs to the Great Hall.

“Suit yourself,” Dorian called after him. “Oh wait, no, _I’ll_ be the one suiting you. In case you forgot that it’s my impeccable clothing you’ll be wearing.”

Fenris waved dismissively over his shoulder as he made his way up the stairs. As he wandered past Varric’s usual spot in the hall, he glanced casually at the rotunda.

He stopped short. The torches in the rotunda were lit. Fenris quietly made his way toward the room and peered inside. 

Solas was there, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a row of paint jars lined up on his desk. Hawke was there as well, and she was hugging him. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He was genuinely surprised that Solas had returned. Solas gingerly patted Hawke on the back as she hugged him, then smiled faintly at her as she pulled away. 

Fenris waited in the doorway as Hawke and Solas spoke quietly together. Hawke punched him affably in the shoulder, then turned and made her way toward the door where Fenris was waiting. 

She smiled at him as she approached. “Told you he would come back,” she whispered.

Fenris bowed his head slightly. “I stand corrected.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m shocked that Josephine let you escape.”

Hawke snickered. “She gave me three minutes. I’ve already been gone for five. She’s probably pulling her luscious hair out.” She kissed him on the cheek, then darted away. 

Fenris huffed in amusement, then looked up and met Solas’s eye. Solas’s expression was as neutral as usual, with no lingering hints of the anger that had driven him to storm away. 

He folded his hands behind his back as Fenris approached. “Fenris,” he said quietly.

Fenris nodded a brusque greeting. “You returned,” he said. “Hawke said you would. I, however, had my doubts.”

Solas nodded an acknowledgement. “So did I, for a time. But only a short time. You and Hawke did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon the Inquisition now.” He sighed and looked up at the painted walls. “Furthermore, Hawke is correct. How could I make this world better if I did not stay to help?”

His expression was calm and melancholy – more melancholy than usual. Fenris eyed him appraisingly, then decided to stick to business. 

“I have concerns about Cole,” Fenris said. He folded his arms. “That friend of yours proved that you are right about… about the nature of spirits and demons. But this means that Cole could become a demon. He could become dangerous.”

Solas pursed his lips, then met Fenris’s eye. “Any person can become dangerous when influenced by the wrong people,” he said calmly. “Like any thinking being, Cole is affected by those around him.” He tilted his head. “Do you think you are less likely to be betrayed by the Iron Bull, for instance, who has openly decreed his primary allegiance to the Qun?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I ask you this because we don’t want Cole to become dangerous,” he said flatly. “Tell us how to stop it from happening. Not binding him is a start. What else should we do?”

Solas’s eyebrows rose. “Oh,” he said. “I… I see.” He smoothed his fingers along the cord of his jawbone necklace, then folded his hands behind his back once more. “Cole reflects the hurt of those around him, and he eases that hurt. This is his purpose. As long as he is not stopped from helping those in pain, and as long as he is not forced to injure any innocents, he will remain himself.”

Fenris nodded and glanced at the rotunda walls. The lines of a new scene were sketched on the wet-looking wall in charcoal. 

He glanced at Solas once more. “Explain something to me,” he said. “If all demons are spirits, why do you kill them? _We_ kill them because they are dangerous,” he clarified as Solas frowned slightly. “But why do you? Why have you not attempted to revert them?”

Solas’s brow cleared. “Would that I could,” he said softly. “But you saw the magical effort that was expended to free my friend. Furthermore, she… it was a being of great intellect. It knew itself intimately, and it knew that it did not wish to be what those… those fools forced it to be.” He took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer, quieter voice. “In times of war, there are only so many lives that you can save.”

Fenris studied him in bemusement. What wars could Solas possibly have seen in his forty-something years of isolated apostate life?

He didn’t bother to ask. He knew what the answer would be. _Wars in the Fade,_ he thought. For Solas, everything came back to the blasted Fade. 

Fenris dropped his arms to his sides and took a step away. “It is good that you’re back,” he said. Truthfully, he was glad for Hawke’s and the Inquisition’s sake rather than his own, but the sentiment was still genuine.

“Thank you,” Solas said. “I am pleased to be back, as well.”

Fenris nodded, then turned and made his way toward the Great Hall once more. But something occurred to him just before he left the rotunda. 

He turned back. “Solas. What type of spirit is Cole? What virtue does he represent?”

Solas paused with his stirring stick halfway into a jar of paint. “Is it not evident from the work he does?”

Fenris frowned. Solas gazed at him for a moment, then began to stir the paint. “He is a spirit of compassion,” he said softly. “A very rare spirit indeed.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Then a piercing shriek poured out of the Great Hall, followed by the cacophonous sounds of two women laughing.

Fenris whipped around. He would recognize that raucous throaty laugh anywhere. He strode back to the Great Hall. 

It was Isabela. She was hugging Hawke so hard that she’d lifted Hawke clear off her feet, and Hawke was pink-cheeked with joy as she returned the wily pirate’s embrace. 

“You saucy bitch,” Hawke cackled, then briskly wiped her eyes as Isabela set her down. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, you know, just long enough to be missing the ocean already,” Isabela said. She grinned at Fenris as he approached. “My, my, what have we here?” she drawled. She shifted her weight saucily to one hip as she looked him over. “You’re looking lankier than ever. My girl here has treated you well, it seems.”

“So it would seem,” he said. He allowed Isabela to kiss him on both cheeks, then eyed her sun-browned complexion appreciatively. “You are looking well, too. Finally owning a ship seems to suit you.” He smirked.

She laughed at his taunt. “Damned right,” she said cheerfully. “You’re welcome to join my crew if you like. I can get you away from all of this in a heartbeat.” She waved a dismissive hand at the Great Hall.

Fenris huffed ruefully. “A kind offer, but we shall have to decline for now.”

“For now,” Hawke said. She slung her arm around Isabela’s shoulders. “We might take you up on it later if things get any more insane.”

“You should,” Isabela said. “This undead magister bullshit sounds like… well, bullshit. I’d run as far from that as I could in a heartbeat.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Let’s not talk about it right now. Tell us what you’ve been up to, that’ll be much more fun.”

Isabela smiled and casually inspected her nails. “Oh, you know. Just becoming the tyrannical bitch who wrestled the Raiders into shape.” 

“And the tyrannical bitch who picks on the merchants trying to deliver goods to Kirkwall,” a stern female voice added. 

Fenris smiled, and Hawke gasped in delight at the sound of the familiar voice. “ _Aveline!_ ” she squealed. She bolted toward Aveline and threw herself into the Guard-Captain’s muscular arms. 

Isabela rolled her eyes and tutted. “I brought her and Donnic over from Kirkwall,” she told Fenris quietly. “She spent the whole trip nosing around in my cargo bay. You’d think I’d murdered a sack of puppies by the way she reacted to all my stuff.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Stolen stuff, I presume?”

Isabela shrugged elegantly. “I am who I am, sweet thing. It’s my way of life.”

Fenris chuckled, and he and Isabela wandered over to join Hawke, Aveline and Donnic. Fenris firmly shook Donnic’s hand. “Thank you for coming, my friend,” he said warmly, and he shook Aveline’s hand as well. 

“Finally getting married, you are,” Aveline said approvingly. “It’s long overdue, if you ask me.”

Isabela scoffed loudly. “It’s a bloody mistake, if you ask _me_. I don’t want to hear the whining when your sex life goes out the window.”

“What makes you think that would happen?” Donnic asked her. 

Aveline tutted and smacked his arm, and he winced. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Meanwhile, Isabela and Hawke were cackling at his inadvertent implication, and Fenris couldn’t help but laugh as well when both Donnic and Aveline began to blush. 

Fenris turned to Isabela. “If you think our marriage is a mistake, you’re free to leave,” he said mock-casually. “Your presence is hardly crucial.”

Isabela scoffed. “What, and miss the chance to party in an ancient enchanted castle hidden in the mountains? Nice try, handsome. Besides,” she said, “my presence _is_ crucial.” She winked at Hawke, who grinned at her. 

Fenris gazed at them in confusion for a moment, then wilted in amusement and exasperation. “You are kidding,” he said to Hawke. “You asked _Isabela_ –?”

“Excuse me,” Isabela protested. “What’s wrong with Hawke asking me?”

Fenris folded his arms and gave her a knowing smirk. “You just said you disapprove of our marriage.”

“Not _your_ marriage. _All_ marriage,” Isabela said. “But when duty calls, who am I to say no?” 

Aveline snorted. “You _always_ say no to anything involving duty. Or honour. Or loyalty.”

Donnic laughed nervously and patted Aveline’s elbow. “What duty are you talking about, Isabela?” he asked politely. 

She grinned wickedly. “Guess who’s officiating the ceremony tomorrow?”

Aveline’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious,” she said, and both Hawke and Isabela burst into laughter. 

Aveline scowled at Isabela. “How is that possible?” she said incredulously. 

Isabela pointed at herself. “Ship captain, big girl,” she said cheerfully. “I have the power to marry anyone foolish enough to want it.”

Aveline gaped at her, then turned her scowl to Fenris. “You’re in agreement with this plan?” she demanded. 

He lifted his hands innocently. “I knew nothing of these plans. I am simply the groom.”

“Kind of an important role, don’t you think?” Varric said. He wandered over with a grin on his face and Carver and Toby in his wake. 

“Hello, Varric. Carver,” Aveline said distractedly as she patted the ecstatic mabari on the head. “I’m surprised you two allowed _this_ to happen.” She shot Isabela a filthy look.

Carver blinked. “What do you mean? We were supposed to do something?”

“Nah,” Varric assured him. “She’s being facetious. We’re groomsmen. We just have to show up.” 

Aveline tutted loudly. “Men,” she complained. 

Donnic patted her hand sympathetically. Hawke and Isabela continued to laugh and joke around lewdly, and Varric began filling Donnic in on the goings-on at Skyhold while Aveline scratched Toby’s ears and told Carver about the latest news in Kirkwall, and Fenris simply listened to them all with a smile on his face. 

The last time they’d all been together was years ago. So much had happened in that time, and so much had changed in the world. For Fenris and Hawke, the past few months had been particularly difficult; horrifically so, at times. 

But now, with their Kirkwall friends and family gathered around, Fenris could relax. For the first time in months, he was starting to feel normal. For the first time in months, Fenris wasn’t the Inquisitor, and Hawke wasn’t the Inquisitor’s right hand. 

For the first time in months, Fenris felt like… himself.

He admired Hawke’s broad and beautiful smile. _Tomorrow is going to be a good day,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases in this chapter, thanks to canon translations and FenxShiral on AO3:  
>  _em halani lethallin_ = help me, my friend.  
>  _lethallan, ir abelas_ = my friend, I’m sorry. 
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be 100% self-indulgent wedding and friendship fluff. Probably also smut. #SorryNotSorry #ForgiveMe #ThePlotWillCome #Eventually 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you care to drop by! xo


	22. Forever And A Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is genuinely just 100% sappy wedding fluff, friendship fluff, and smut. No tricks, I promise. xo
> 
> My very dear friend [@schoute on Tumblr](https://schoute.tumblr.com/) did a FenRynne wedding portrait for me, and another dear friend [@lethendralis-paints](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/) painted some some post-coital wedding snuggles!! I LOVE YOU BOTH SO MUCH - HUGE, HUGE love for this gorgeous art. xoxoxox

Fenris leaned his elbows on the battlements and gazed down into Skyhold’s garden. A handful of Skyhold’s people were still working despite the evening hour, gathering herbs and picking apples and tending the vegetables. A couple of people looked up at the battlements, then smiled and whispered to each other as they caught sight of him. 

He awkwardly stepped away from the battlements and sat on one of the four benches that had been arranged on the turret here earlier this morning. Hawke would arrive soon; it was almost sunset, so not long to wait now. 

He rubbed his hands together idly. Then Isabela sashayed over and sat beside him. “Real nice night for an evening,” she said.

On the other side of the turret, Aveline folded her arms and made a disgusted noise. “You’re still clinging to that six years later? You are so childish.”

“You’re still embarrassed about it six years later,” Isabela retorted. “That makes it hilarious.”

Fenris shot Aveline a slightly apologetic look. “She is not wrong. It was pretty hilarious.”

Aveline scowled, and Donnic squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. “I think it was charming, love.”

“You thought I’d lost my marbles,” Aveline said bluntly.

“Well... that too,” Donnic admitted. “But it was still charming.”

Aveline huffed again, but a little smile was lifting the corners of her lips. 

Isabela rolled her eyes and stretched her legs out in front of her. “So no word from Merrill, then?” she asked. 

Fenris shook his head. He and Hawke weren’t sure if the letter had never reached Merrill or if she’d chosen not to reply, but they’d decided not to speak of it further.

Isabela hummed an acknowledgement, then lazily stretched her arms over her head. “Too bad our favourite goody-two-shoes Chantry boy refused to come,” she said. “It would have been _interesting_ if he’d shown up.”

“Sebastian is busy running Starkhaven,” Fenris said.

“Mm-hmm,” Isabela drawled. “ _That’s_ why he didn’t come.”

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully. Given how angry Sebastian was with Hawke when they’d parted ways two years ago, he wasn’t terribly surprised that Sebastian had declined the wedding invitation. 

Then Cullen spoke up. “He made a very generous donation to the Inquisition in his stead.” He rubbed his chin. “Surprisingly generous, given the, er… history.”

“Sebastian and Fenris were good friends before the rebellion,” Donnic reasoned. “He even gambled with us one time at Fenris’s mansion. Remember, Fenris? I still don’t quite know what got into him.” 

“Some spiked punch, if I recall correctly,” Fenris said. 

Donnic’s eyes widened. “You spiked his punch?”

“Not I,” Fenris said. “I was not responsible for the punch that time. It was–”

“Hawke,” Aveline and Isabela said at the same time.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered.

Fenris, Isabela and Donnic laughed. Then Isabela smiled at Cullen. “Too bad you were so uptight back then, Cullen. I bet you would have been fun in a game of strip wicked grace.” She bit her lip and slid a salacious look from his head to his toes.

Predictably, Cullen’s cheeks began to flush. He scowled at Isabela. “I was not uptight. I was… busy. Too busy for foolish games, certainly.”

“And now? Still too busy, or do you have time for a little fun later?” Isabela purred. 

Cullen’s scowl deepened. “Excuse me. I have to check the, er, guard rotation. I will return.” He strode away with his shoulders up around his ears. 

Isabela snickered, then turned to Fenris. She nodded at his hands, which he was idly rubbing together while they waited. “You still wear that thing, I see.”

He looked down at the scarlet kerchief around his wrist. “It is a different one than the first, but yes. I like it.”

“Are you going to be trading it out for a ring?” Isabela asked. “Something valuable and theft-worthy, maybe?” She smiled roguishly at him.

He smirked. “There will be an exchange of rings, yes. Valuable and theft-worthy rings, no.” He and Hawke had decided on matching silverite bands: simple and hardy rings that wouldn’t tarnish, and which would fit comfortably inside Fenris’s gauntlet. 

Isabela tutted and rose to her feet. “Shame. I mainly came here to rob you once you got drunk at the reception.”

Fenris shook his head in mock exasperation as she sauntered away. He dropped his eyes to the kerchief at his wrist and took a slow, deep breath. 

A moment later, Donnic sat beside him. “All right?” he said quietly. “I can get you a half-glass of wine from the tavern if you’re nervous.” 

Fenris gave him a half-smile. “That’s kind of you, but no. I’m fine.” He idly rubbed the red fabric of his kerchief with his thumb. If truth be told, he _was_ feeling rather nervous. He and Hawke had decided to prepare their own vows since the ceremony would be largely non-religious, aside from a blessing that Fenris had (slightly sheepishly) requested from Leliana. But the thought of speaking his mind – no, not his mind, but his heart – in front of the others was making him feel jittery. 

He was annoyed at himself for his nerves. The thought of saying his vows shouldn’t be so difficult; it wasn’t like his feelings for Hawke were a surprise to anyone present. Fenris knew that Hawke had agreed to keep the ceremony small primarily for his comfort, and with the exception of Leliana and Josephine, the other attendees were people that he’d known for years and who knew him and Hawke the best.

He took another slow, calming breath. If he could give an impromptu speech to the entire Inquisition, then he could certainly say his vows in front of a handful of friends.

“You’re lucky, then,” Donnic said. “I was very nervous when I married Aveline.”

“Your wife does tend to incite that feeling,” Fenris said drolly.

Donnic nodded happily. “She is a force to be reckoned with, I’ll give you that. Really though, I was downright scared during the ceremony. Thought I’d say the wrong thing and call her ‘Guard-Captain’ in front of everyone.”

Fenris snorted. “For your sake, I am glad you didn’t.” He toyed with his scarf for a moment longer before speaking again. “What did you do? To assuage your nerves, I mean.”

“I…” Donnic trailed off and scratched the back of his neck. “You know, I don’t remember.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “This has certainly been helpful.”

Donnic laughed and affably clapped his shoulder. “Sorry, Fenris. I really had hoped to helpful. But… well, if it’s any comfort, it goes by in a blur. You might be nervous now, but it’ll be over in the blink of an eye.”

“I never said I was nervous,” Fenris said. He smirked at Donnic, and Donnic chuckled. 

Then, to his surprise, he spotted Varric strolling along the ramparts toward the turret where they were waiting. Varric nodded to Cullen, Aveline and Isabela as he passed them by, then smiled at Fenris as he approached. “Hey, elf. How’re you doing?”

“What are you doing here?” Fenris asked. “I thought you were keeping Hawke company while she was getting prepared.”

Varric tucked his hands in his pockets. “Ah, she sent me to check on you.”

“Why? Did she think I would try to run?” Fenris quipped dryly.

Varric smirked in return. “No. She thought you might be nervous.” 

Donnic made a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough. Fenris lifted his chin and folded his arms. “I am not nervous,” he declared. “I’ve done far more terrifying things before.”

“Hmm,” Varric said. He gave Fenris an appraising look. “Well, if it helps, they say one thing you can do when you’re nervous is imagine the audience in their underwear.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “How could that possibly be helpful?”

Isabela wandered over to join them. “It makes you feel better about yourself in comparison,” she said confidently. “And _you_ have a lot of feel good about.” She shot Fenris a flirty wink.

Varric snorted softly. “I don’t think that’s the point of it, but sure. Why not.”

“She’s coming,” Cullen said suddenly. He pointed over the battlements. “Through the garden.”

Fenris and the others hurried to the battlements and looked into Skyhold’s garden, and Fenris’s heart leapt into his throat. There was Hawke, talking and joking with Josephine, Dorian, and Carver as Toby galumphed happily around them. She wore a circlet of flowers in her pixie-short hair and a floor-length ivory gown that matched the short-sleeved tunic he’d borrowed from Dorian, and as Fenris and the others watched, she threw her head back and laughed at something Dorian had said. 

Her raucous roll of laughter floated up to the battlements, and Fenris grinned. He’d only seen her in a formal dress twice before, both during formal dinners in Kirkwall, and he’d never seen her look so happy to be thusly dressed. 

She turned to Dorian and kissed him on the cheek, and Dorian bowed playfully to her before walking away in the direction of the tavern. Then Hawke looped her hands happily into Josephine and Carver’s arms and looked up at the battlements. 

She met Fenris’s eye. She beamed at him, and Fenris almost laughed at the broadness of her smile. The jittery nerves in his belly had mixed into something more pleasant, like a surging of anticipation and excitement, and Fenris wondered if it was foolish to be this excited. He’d just seen Hawke a couple of hours ago, after all. They’d eaten lunch together and started packing for the impending journey to the Western Approach. It had been a completely normal day, aside from the occasional jolts of nerves in his belly and the little smile that kept bursting across Hawke’s lips when they were talking about completely mundane things like packing dry socks for the trip. 

But this wasn’t just a normal day. This moment was special, and for more reasons than just their impending marriage. As Hawke lifted the skirt of her gown to start up the stairs to the battlements, a funny sense of unreality began to make him feel lightheaded. 

“Are you ready?” Leliana said. 

He turned around. Leliana was standing at the other side of the turret in front of the benches. Her hands were folded and there was a peaceful smile on her face, and Fenris didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking this… soft. 

Isabela stepped away from the battlements. “Nice try, Leliana, but _I’m_ officiating this wedding,” she said. She sauntered toward the spymaster. 

Leliana’s smile broadened slightly as she met Isabela’s eyes, and she nodded politely. “Of course, Captain. Please, take your place.” She took a step off to the side, and Isabela planted herself confidently in front of the benches. 

“All right, all of you, have a seat,” Isabela announced. “Fenris, get that fine lanky ass of yours over here.”

Fenris joined Isabela in front of the benches as Donnic, Aveline, Cullen and Varric took their seats. A long, heart-pounding moment later, Hawke appeared at the top of a nearby parapet with Josephine, Carver, and Toby close behind. 

Toby barked happily and bolted along the parapet toward Fenris. He bounded down the short flight of stairs to the turret and leapt at Fenris, and Fenris just barely managed to hold the mabari back from leaving paw prints on Dorian’s pristine tunic.

Carver ran over and hefted the mabari into his bulky arms. “Bloody beast,” he muttered. He shot Fenris an apologetic look. “Sorry.” 

Fenris shook his head. “Do not apologize. He has a mind of his own.” He affectionately scratched Toby’s ears as Toby wiggled excitedly in Carver’s arms. “Behave yourself, my friend,” he said quietly. 

Toby barked again as Carver carried him over to a bench and took a seat. Then Hawke was making her way along the parapet, and Fenris could feel his smile growing foolishly wide as she drew closer. 

Josephine offered Hawke a hand as they made their way down the stairs to the turret. Hawke squeezed Josephine’s hand in thanks, then turned to face him.

She was grinning, and Fenris grinned back at her. She looked so consummately happy. Her eyes were sparkling in the light of the setting sun, and _fasta vass,_ this dress she was wearing… 

She stepped closer to him, and Fenris briefly ran his hand along her tattooed left shoulder blade. The dress was very low in the back, exactly as he’d hoped. “You are beautiful,” he told her quietly. 

“So are you,” she murmured. She tugged the sharp high collar of his borrowed tunic and smoothed a hand along his bare arm. “This is a gorgeous colour on you.”

“Do not tell Dorian,” Fenris warned her. “He will become insufferably smug.”

Hawke laughed brightly, and Fenris admired the perfect raspberry-red of her smiling lips. 

“All right, all right, let’s get on with it,” Isabela said playfully. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all start drinking.”

Hawke snickered and elbowed Isabela, then took Fenris’s hands in hers. He gazed into her eyes, drinking in the open excitement of her smile, and as she squeezed his hands, that odd feeling of surreality suddenly crashed over him. 

He stared at Hawke’s lovely face, and for a crazy split second, an odd thought occurred to him: _is this really me?_ Was this truly his life, standing here on the battlements of an enchanted castle surrounded by friends, holding the hands of this beautiful woman whose amber eyes were practically incandescent with adoration? Was it really possible that Fenris could be this damned fortunate?

There once was a time when Fenris never thought that he would earn the right to marry. Danarius would never have allowed him to take a lover or a spouse, and as Danarius’s helpless thrall, it was never something that Fenris had even thought to want. Being with someone – caring about someone, befriending someone, _loving_ someone: these were privileges reserved for other people, people who had rights and minds and bodies of their own. These were foreign concepts, foreign ideas that were kept away from him, just as he was kept away from other slaves and kept under Danarius’s possessive thumb. 

But now, standing on this turret with Hawke’s hands clasped in his… To think he could come this far, from a magic-marred slave on his knees to a man standing tall and ready to marry the woman he loved? 

Fenris swallowed hard, then subtly cleared his throat. There was a lump swelling in his throat, and that wouldn’t do, not in front of Isabela and Aveline and the others. 

Hawke squeezed his hands again, and he breathed in deeply through his nose. Then Isabela began to speak. “All right, everyone, thanks for coming. We’re here to witness Fenris and Rynne Hawke getting married.” She looked out at their tiny audience. “Most of you have known these two since they were young and stupid and pretending they weren’t gagging for each other for years. Now we all know them as the most sickening couple on this side of Thedas.” 

Hawke laughed. Varric and Donnic chuckled, and Fenris scoffed. “Very sentimental, Isabela, thank you,” he drawled.

She smiled unrepentantly. “You ask me to officiate, then this is what you get. You two have anything you want to say before you tie the knot?”

“Yes,” Hawke said firmly. She squeezed Fenris’s hands once more and looked him in the eye, and her expression was serious now. 

“Fenris,” she said, “I love you so fucking much.”

There was a ripple of laughter from the others, but Hawke only smiled briefly at them before looking up at Fenris once more. “Isabela is right. I was young and stupid when we met, and I’m still one of those things.” She grinned at his chiding look before going on. “But one thing I’ve always known is how special you are. You are strong and determined and you’re so fucking smart, and you’re all the more special because you don’t know how special you are.” 

Fenris’s cheeks were burning. He couldn’t look at the others, and he could barely look at Hawke as she continued to speak. “Fenris, we all know where you came from,” she said. “The journey you took to get here was more than crossing countries, and I know what it means for us to be standing here together today.” She stepped closer to him, and Fenris could barely breathe as he took in the ferocity and the warmth in her face. 

She lowered her voice. “You fought for me. You fought years’ worth of demons to be with me, and I am grateful every damned day that you did. I waited for seven years–”

He squeezed her hands. “Hawke, I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I… I wish I’d realized sooner–”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t matter, see? It doesn’t matter that I had to wait. I would have waited for longer. I would have waited forever, because I love you.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “All that matters is that we found our way. And we’ll keep finding it together, forever and a day.”

Fenris pressed his lips together hard. In their little audience, he heard someone sniffling – Josephine, probably – and he raised his eyes and blinked hard for a moment before smiling at Hawke once more. “ _Kaffas,_ Hawke. You expect me to follow that?” he whispered.

Her smile widened. “Say anything you like. With that voice of yours, it’ll sound way better than anything I could say.”

He chuckled and shook his head, then took a deep breath. The time was finally here: time to speak the kinds of thoughts he usually only shared with Hawke, in front of all these people. He tried hard to ignore the roiling in his stomach and focused on her face. 

“Hawke,” he said quietly. “ _Rynne._ You… you always say I saved myself when I left Tevinter, but the truth is this: _you_ saved me.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “You–”

“Shut up, Hawke. It’s my turn to speak,” Fenris interrupted.

She laughed brightly, and the others laughed as well. Fenris smiled faintly, then took another deep and bracing breath. “You saved me from myself,” he said. “I’d been running for years when we met. I might have kept running if not for you. But you gave me a reason to stop running. I didn’t know it at the time, or… or perhaps I simply denied it. But you… with your foolish pranks and your flirting, you made me realize…” He cleared his throat. “You made me realize that there was happiness to be had, even for a former slave.”

Her smile was so bright and warm. He reached up and stroked her cheek. “You taught me hope,” he said quietly. “What it is to live _for_ something, and not just to survive. You… I know I call you impatient and impulsive, and you are those things…” He paused as she and the others chuckled once more. “... but you were never impatient with me. For years, you stood by me when I was… unkind. And… and you were never unkind in turn.” 

He swallowed hard. His eyes were burning. He took another careful breath and met her shining copper eyes. “Rynne, you taught me what it is to l-love…” 

His voice cracked, much to his embarrassment. He looked away and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then Hawke’s hands were cradling his neck, stroking his cheek and smoothing an errant tear from his face. 

She lifted herself on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t have to say anything more,” she whispered. 

He swallowed hard. “I… I want to,” he rasped. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much to thank her for, but the warmth in his chest was choking him, and to have all their friends staring…

She shook her head. “You said more than enough,” she murmured. “Really, Fenris, I…” She sniffled, and Fenris watched a tear trail down her cheek as well. 

He sniffed hard and delicately wiped the tear from her cheek. Then Isabela spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice. “All right. Anything else you two want to say?”

Hawke leaned away slightly and met Fenris’s eyes, and he subtly shook his head. Hawke smiled at Isabela. “All yours, Bels. Take it away.”

Isabela nodded, then looked at Varric and Aveline. “I heard there were rings. Who’s got them?”

“I do,” Carver said. He took a small box from his pocket, then frowned at Toby as he placed the box in Toby’s mouth. “Don’t you swallow it,” he threatened quietly, and he patted the dog’s rump. 

Toby trotted up to Isabela, then sat obediently beside Hawke and wagged his tail. Isabela took the box from his mouth, and Hawke fondly scratched Toby’s neck. “What a good boy,” she crooned. 

Isabela grimaced slightly as she opened the drool-laced box. Fenris took the smaller ring from the box and slid it onto Hawke’s finger to join her ruby-and-onyx engagement ring. 

She beamed at him, then took the larger ring and slid it onto his left hand. Then Isabela turned to Leliana. “Your turn, sweets.” 

Leliana took a small step forward and smiled at Fenris and Hawke. “May the Maker hear your words of love, and bless you with a long and happy life together,” she said softly.

Fenris nodded to her in thanks. Then Leliana stepped back, and Isabela folded her arms and smiled at them. “Well,” she said. “You know what I think of marriage. But if anyone will make it, it’s you two idiots.”

Hawke grinned at her. She winked, then raised her voice. “By my power as the Queen of the Eastern Seas–” Aveline snorted at this, “– I declare you husband and wife.” She slapped Fenris on the shoulder. “Now kiss the bitch already.”

Fenris smiled at Hawke, then tipped her chin up and gently kissed her as their friends and family clapped. In true Hawke fashion, however, a gentle kiss wasn’t enough for her: she gripped his shoulders and kissed him hard, and a second later she leapt into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and Fenris grinned as he hastily adjusted his grip to support her weight. 

“Hello, husband,” she said. “Now you’re really stuck with me forever.”

He admired her loving smile as she stroked his neck. “Good,” he said. “That is exactly what I want.” He lifted his chin, and they shared another blissful kiss.

He carefully lowered her to her feet, and their friends and family crowded around to give their congratulations. Fenris smirked at Varric, whose eyes were suspiciously red. “I don’t suppose that was you sniffling during the vows?” he teased. 

Varric snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. It’s allergy season in Skyhold, that’s all.” He patted Fenris’s elbow. 

Fenris squeezed Varric’s shoulder, and they smiled broadly at each other without speaking. Then Varric cleared his throat gruffly and patted his elbow once more before stepping away to join Isabela. 

Fenris smiled at his back, then turned to Hawke. She was chatting with Cullen and Josephine, and as Fenris turned to face them, Cullen smiled at him. 

He firmly shook Fenris’s hand. “Congratulations. This was a good choice, to have something so private.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. “Especially as the reception will be quite the opposite.”

Cullen snorted softly. “Yes. Well.” He glanced ruefully at Hawke, who was teasing Donnic while Aveline and Josephine laughed, then turned back to Fenris. “I have to admit, it is… nice to see,” he said quietly. “After all that happened in Kirkwall – the horrific mess it all turned out to be…” He sighed. “My time there was tumultuous, to say the least. I know yours was as well.” He smiled faintly. “I am glad that something good came of it all.”

Fenris smiled, then bowed slightly to him. “I appreciate that, Cullen. Thank you.”

Cullen bowed slightly in return. “I should check on the guard patrols,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped away and patted Toby briefly before striding away along the ramparts.

Then Carver sidled up to him. “You know, I never really got you and my sister at first,” he said. “You were always fighting. You yelled at her so much, I thought you hated her for a while there.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You and Hawke are constantly arguing, as well.” 

Carver shrugged. “That’s true.” Then his eyes went wide. “Maker’s mercy. I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”

Fenris smirked. “You are, yes.”

Carver winced and rubbed his hair. “Damn. Sorry. I’m… sorry, Fenris. I’m happy for you, honestly. I… you’re lucky, actually. Both of you. It’s nice you had each other all that time in Kirkwall. And, er, after the, um, explosion and everything.” He tugged nervously at his hair in a way that strongly reminded Fenris of Hawke. 

Fenris graciously patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Carver. That’s… kind of you.” 

Carver smiled a little awkwardly. Then Hawke turned to them with a bright smile. “Carv!” she said brightly. “Good job with the mabari-wrangling there. Dorian would murder Fenris if his lovely tunic got stained.”

“Heh. Yeah,” Carver said. He tugged his hair for a moment longer, then pulled her into a hug. 

Hawke’s eyes went wide with surprise, but she hugged her brother just as tightly. A long moment passed as the siblings embraced each other, and Fenris watched with an aching fondness as she squinched her face up to ward back her tears. 

Carver slowly pulled away. “Congratulations, Rynne,” he said gruffly. “It’s, uh. I wish Father and Mother and Bethany could have been here. They, um. Mother would have liked your dress.” He briskly rubbed his face.

Hawke laughed a little tremulously. “Oh sure. But she would have hated this.” She lifted her skirt and stuck out her foot.

Her feet were bare. Fenris looked at her in surprise. “You actually went barefoot,” he said.

“Of course I did,” she said. “It was your special request. And honestly, it’s amazing. I feel so free.” She did a little twirl, fanning her skirt slightly in the process. 

Carver chuckled. “You’re right,” he said. “Mother would have been horrified.” 

“I can hear her already,” Hawke said. “‘Oh Rynne, darling, must you? Bare feet are for elves and urchins, and you’re neither of those’.” 

Fenris rubbed his mouth. Her imitation was spot-on. 

Carver barked out a laugh. “Maker, I miss them.” 

Hawke pressed her lips together, then wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed him. “Me too, baby brother,” she whispered. “But I’m glad _you’re_ here.”

Carver pressed his lips together as well and nodded silently, then sniffed hard and jerked his chin in the direction of the tavern. “So, um, the reception is, uh… Is it starting now, or…?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. She raised her voice. “Come on, everyone, to the Herald’s Rest! We’ve all earned a drink!” 

There was a cheer from Isabela and Varric. Hawke slipped her hands through Carver and Fenris’s elbows, and together they all made their way along the ramparts to the tavern’s upper attic entrance. 

Josephine had prepared the tavern for their arrival, it seemed; as they approached the upstairs entrance that led into Cole’s usual corner, they spotted Josephine waiting there. 

She beamed at them as they approached. “Everyone inside, please. Lady Rynne and Fenris, you will enter last.”

Fenris gave her a warning look. “Josephine.”

“It is a momentous occasion!” she insisted. “For you and for the Inquisition.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “Everyone is so excited for you…”

Fenris sighed. Then he met Hawke’s eye. She squeezed his arm encouragingly. “Let them ogle for one minute, then we’ll have lots of drinks,” she said.

He tutted. “Fine,” he grunted. He waved at the door. “Go on, everyone.”

Josephine beamed at him, then ushered everyone inside. Hawke winked at Fenris, then slipped through the door, and Fenris followed her. 

He made his way down the short flight of stairs into the attic to stand with Hawke. Then Dorian’s loud voice drifted up to the rafters. “To the Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall!” he yelled. “How’s married life treating you?”

Hawke peered over the banister at him. “Fantastic!” she yelled back. She grinned at Fenris, then raised her fist. “Cheers to my husband!” 

The tavern erupted in a cacophony of cheering and stamping and shouts of ‘to the Herald!’ and ‘cheers to the Inquisitor and his right hand!’. 

Fenris forced a small smile and nervously rubbed his left hand, and his thumb smoothed over his new ring. He looked down at the ring on his hand. The silverite band was rendered brilliant by the verdant light that flickered across his palm, and for some reason, the sight of his new ring on his marred left hand made his shoulders relax.

He lifted his face and raised his hand briefly to the crowd, and they cheered even louder. Then Maryden and a few other musicians started up a merry song, and the sounds of conversation and singing and laughter filled the tavern once more. 

Hawke smiled at him. “And now we can enjoy ourselves,” she murmured. 

Fenris shrugged. “I suppose.” He eyed the enticing bodice of her gown. Truth be told, he would rather be alone with her than at this party, but since they were here, he might as well try to have a good time. 

“Fenris. Hawke,” a calm voice said.

He turned around. Solas was there, standing in Cole’s usual corner with Cole hovering at his side. 

Solas smiled slightly and bowed. “Congratulations are in order,” he said. “I am pleased for you both.” 

“You’re happy,” Cole agreed. “That’s good.” He smiled vaguely at them. 

Hawke beamed at them. “Thank you, Solas, Cole.” She hugged them both, and Fenris nodded politely. Then they made their way down the stairs. 

“You finally made it!” Dorian pushed through the crowd to greet them, with Cassandra in his wake. He planted his fists on his hips and looked at Fenris appraisingly. “Yes, you match the lady rather nicely, don’t you? I chose your clothing well.” He solicitously brushed a speck of dust from Fenris’s shoulder. 

Fenris folded his arms. “You mean _I_ chose well, after you tried to force me into six different overly-elaborate ivory robes.”

Cassandra frowned at Dorian. “You own six ivory-coloured robes?”

“ _And_ an ivory-coloured tunic,” Dorian corrected, with a gesture at Fenris’s chest. “Although two of those robes were bone. I’ll thank you to get it right if you’re going to disdain my exquisite wardrobe.” He took Hawke’s hand and gallantly kissed her knuckles. “You are radiant, my dear. Naturally, since I helped to style you.” He grinned. 

Hawke laughed and playfully fanned herself. “Why thank you, my good ser. Would you care to join us for a drink?”

“Certainly,” Dorian said. “Fenris, why don’t you and the Lady Seeker go join our brutish friends and the imp at the back there? There is a nice quiet table reserved for you and your favourite people. You can invite your Kirkwall companions, too.” He glanced at Aveline and Donnic, who were chatting with some of the Inquisition’s soldiers. “Though we all know which of your friends you’re most fond of.” He tipped Fenris a wink. 

Fenris looked at the table that Dorian had indicated. It was removed from the heart of the action, but still central enough that it wouldn’t appear that he was hiding too much. Blackwall, Bull and Sera were seated there, and as Fenris glanced over, Blackwall and Bull raised their tankards, and Sera playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

Fenris nodded a greeting, then looked at Dorian. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Dorian waved him off. “Go on, then, have a seat. We’ll bring you some Aggregio.” 

Fenris’s eyes widened. “There is Aggregio Pavali?” He cast Hawke a suspicious look. “Is this a joke?”

Dorian snorted delicately. “It certainly is not. I demanded they stock it as soon as we got settled in here. Consider it my gift to you.” He waved a bit more impatiently. “Now go on before I change my mind and decide to drink the whole bottle myself instead.”

Hawke quickly kissed Fenris on the cheek. “Go,” she whispered. “We’ll bring the drinks.” She linked her arm with Dorian’s, and they moved off toward the bar. 

Fenris turned to Cassandra, and she smiled and bowed slightly. “Congratulations, Inquisitor,” she said. 

He bowed in return. “Thank you, Seeker.” 

They both chuckled at the mocking formality, then began to pick their way through the crowd toward the back table. “How was the ceremony?” Cassandra asked. “I imagine it was very nice.”

“It was,” Fenris said. “Very romantic. Not nearly as romantic as the wedding scene in _Swords and Shields,_ though.” He shot her a teasing smile. 

She huffed and rubbed her nose. “I doubt that anything could be that romantic. The part where the Ser Donnen showers the Knight-Captain in rose petals is… well.” She cleared her throat. 

Fenris rubbed his mouth to stop from laughing. Then something occurred to him – something marvelous and mischievous, and something he was surprised Hawke hadn’t thought of first. 

He stopped and looked at her. “You know, Cassandra, _Swords and Shields_ is loosely based on some friends of ours.”

“Yes, I know,” Cassandra said, slightly suspiciously. “Varric said as much.”

Fenris shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “As luck would have it, those friends are present. They are just over there, in fact.” He jerked his chin at Aveline and Donnic. “Would you care to meet them?”

Cassandra’s eyes went wide. “What?” she squawked. 

“Aveline Vallen and Donnic Hendyr. They are the Knight-Captain and Ser Donnen in _Swords and Shields_ ,” Fenris said. “Would you–?”

“Oh! Oh Maker,” Cassandra blurted. She pressed a hand to her mouth. “No, I couldn’t, I–”

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you sitting?” Hawke reappeared and placed a glass of wine in Fenris’s hand, then looked curiously between him and Cassandra. 

Cassandra shot him a forbidding glare, but he couldn’t resist. “I thought Cassandra should meet Aveline and Donnic,” he said. He took a sip of wine. 

Hawke blinked. “Well, yes, of course. But…” She trailed off, and Fenris saw the exact moment that she realized the connection. 

Her jaw dropped. Then she spun to Cassandra and grabbed her wrist. “You _have_ to meet them. Right now. Oi, Aveline!” She began shoving her way toward Aveline and Donnic and dragged Cassandra along with her. 

Fenris smirked and took another sip of his delicious wine, then slipped carefully through the raucous crowd toward the back table. Blackwall respectfully rose to his feet as he approached. “Cheers,” he announced. “To you and your lady wife.”

“Yeh, nice job catching that bird,” Sera agreed. She waved her tankard lazily, then took a hearty gulp.

Fenris tapped his glass against Blackwall’s tankard. He gave Sera a quizzical look. “I’m surprised you approve.”

She lowered her tankard from her mouth. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “Marriage is… well, it’s an institution. I thought you would be against it on principle.”

Sera frowned. “Everyone gets married, you berk, whether you’re little or big. It’s nice. Like making yourself a family from nothing.” She waved her tankard at him. “Good on you.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Well. Thank you,” he said. He sipped his wine and looked at the cards on the table. “May I join you?”

“Of course,” Blackwall said. “We just finished a round. Diamondback all right by you?”

Fenris sat across from Blackwall and looked at the cards again. They were laid out all wrong. No wonder Blackwall had lost so terribly to Solas that one time.

He gave the Warden an apologetic look. “Blackwall, I am sorry to tell you this, but the way you play diamondback–”

Sera coughed loudly and shot him a warning look. “It’s great,” she said loudly. “All good, right? Another round, chop chop.” She jerked her chin at the cards. 

Blackwall cast them a slightly suspicious look as he dealt another hand. “All right,” he said slowly. “Sera, it’s your turn to start.”

Then Bull turned to Fenris. “Hey boss,” he said. “Your friend there. The buxom one. She’s the Rivaini that caused the trouble with the Arishok back in 9:35?”

Fenris froze. Then he narrowed his eyes. “And if she is?” he said quietly.

Bull shrugged and stroked his chin. “She’s good-looking.”

Fenris stared at him warily. Then Bull shot him a wry glance. “You thought I was going to start a war in this tavern over an incident that was wrapped up six years ago?”

“I should hope you weren’t,” Fenris said. 

Bull folded his arms casually. “Nah. I don’t start fights in taverns. It’s one of my rules. Besides, that would spoil my chances with her.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Sera cackled. “You want to smash bits with her!” she crowed. She shot Bull a teasing look. “But she ain’t a redhead.”

“She’s got other assets that make up for it,” Bull replied. He glanced at Fenris. “I think she’d go for me. Any thoughts?”

Fenris stared at him for a second longer. Then he huffed a little laugh and turned back to his cards. “Not a single one,” he said. “I wish you luck. I suspect you may need it. _And_ a shield.” 

“Mmm. She sounds fiery,” Bull grumbled. He pushed away from the table and sauntered off. 

Fenris shook his head in amusement. He laid down a card, then picked a new one from the deck. “A silver on Blackwall losing all his cards on the fifth turn,” he said to Sera. 

She snickered. “You’re on.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Blackwall protested. “I’m a little down on my luck tonight.” 

“Then perhaps you should have suggested another game,” Fenris said smoothly. “It is your turn.”

Fenris, Blackwall, and Sera played cards together for some time. Servers brought trays of snacks and fresh wine when Fenris’s glass was low, and despite the occasional interruptions of people wishing him well, he soon began to relax as much as he would if this were any other informal gathering. 

Varric and Donnic eventually joined them, and Fenris smirked at Donnic. “Where is Aveline?”

He smiled. “She and your friend Cassandra are thick as thieves, as I’m sure you know. Last I heard, their topic of discussion was somewhere between strategies for taking down dragons and the perils of mixing work and romance.”

Varric snorted in amusement. “I hope you come out no worse for wear at the end of _that_ discussion.”

“So do I,” Donnic drawled. 

Blackwall and Fenris chuckled. Then Blackwall turned around on the bench and looked around the room. “Where is Hawke, by the way? I haven’t had a chance to pass on my congratulations.”

“Yeah, where is she?” Sera demanded. “Shunning the rest of us as soon as she gets her pretty feathers on?” 

Fenris stood up halfway to look around the tavern. He spotted Hawke, then promptly sat back down and hunched his shoulders. “She and Isabela are speaking to Maryden,” he said to Varric. “This can’t bode well.”

“Oh.” Varric smirked as he shuffled the cards. “Yeah, probably not.”

Blackwall frowned curiously. “Why? What’s happening?

Suddenly the music kicked up into a loud and lively jig, and people started cheering and rhythmically clapping along.

“Dancing, that’s what,” Fenris said ruefully. 

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Dancing? Really? _Blech_.”

“Not like at the Winter Palace, Buttercup,” Varric said. “This is Hawke and Isabela’s kind of dancing. It’s… oh, you’ll see.”

Sera gave Varric a funny look, then stood up so she could see better. “They’re standin’ on tables,” she reported. “Dorian is cheering them on. And… oh. _Oh._ Niiiice.” She grinned at Fenris. “Hey, Fenny. D’you know that Hawke’s dress could do that?”

He instantly looked up. “Do what?” He spotted Hawke on the table, and his eyes widened in shock. 

The front of Hawke’s skirt was gathered and buttoned to two clever clips at her hips, leaving her feet free to dance… and showing off her bare legs from her ankles to her thighs. 

Fenris snapped his jaw shut and rubbed his mouth. The front of her skirt was now nearly as short as Isabela’s, and a rather inconvenient rush of heat was pooling in his belly. 

He cleared his throat, then looked at his cards once more. “Interesting,” he said casually. “I was not aware her dress had that particular feature.”

Sera snickered. “Well, now she’s kicking up a fuss on the table with that pirate bird.” She reached over and poked his ear. “If you don’t go dance with her, _I_ will.”

Fenris jerked away from her hand. “I thought you didn’t enjoy dancing.”

“Pshh, I can dance like _that!_ ” Sera exclaimed. Seconds later, she was leaping over the table and skipping off to join Hawke and Isabela, and the occupants of the tavern cheered even more loudly as she hopped onto the table with the other two women.

Blackwall chortled as Varric dealt the cards. “Lucky we’ve got so many mages around. If someone falls and breaks an ankle, one of our mages can fix them up right.”

Donnic stroked his chin. “You know, in all these years, I don’t think either Isabela or Hawke has ever fallen off a table.”

“Ah, they’ll keep trying. They’ll succeed someday,” Varric quipped, and Donnic laughed.

Cassandra and Aveline came over as they were in the middle of a round, and Varric smiled at them. “Ladies,” he greeted. “Cassandra, care to join us for a round?”

Cassandra tutted. “I don’t know, Varric. How badly are you going to cheat?”

Fenris looked at her, then relaxed. She was smiling faintly at Varric, and Varric chuckled as he shifted over on the bench. “Only a tiny bit,” he said. “Come on, join us.” 

Cassandra nodded graciously and sat beside him, and Blackwall gave Varric an odd look as Aveline took a seat beside Donnic. He then turned to Aveline and nodded politely. “Guard-Captain, would _you_ care to join the game as well–”

“ _No,_ ” Fenris and Varric said loudly. 

Blackwall and Cassandra recoiled in surprise, and Aveline sighed wearily. “No thank you, Warden,” she said to Blackwall. “I don’t want to start a riot on Fenris’s wedding day.” She fave Fenris and Varric a resentful look.

Donnic sympathetically patted her hand. Cassandra shot Blackwall a confused look. “I believe we are missing something,” she said. 

Varric threw down his first card. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.” 

Fenris and Donnic chuckled, and the game resumed in full force. The sounds of music and laughter and cheering filled the tavern, and the wine kept flowing freely into Fenris’s swiftly-emptying glass, and it wasn’t long before the room was feeling a little bit hazy. 

When Hawke’s slender arms twined around his neck from behind, he smiled and squeezed her wrist. “You are having a good time,” he said. 

Hawke kissed his ear. “I am,” she murmured, and a pleasant little shiver ran down his spine at the lazy warmth of her tone. 

Then she released him. “Blackwall! I haven’t seen you all night!” she said cheerfully.

Blackwall rose from the bench and offered her a gallant half-bow. “Congratulations on your wedding day, my lady. I’m sure you’ll be very happy.” 

“I already am,” she said. “But you know what would make me even happier?”

Fenris smirked and shook his head. He knew exactly what was coming. Sure enough, Hawke plopped down on the bench beside him and leaned her elbows on the table. “If _you_ danced with me,” she said sweetly. 

He studied his cards carefully, mostly in an attempt to ignore the golden bareness of her legs. “Thank you, but no,” he said. “I am doing fine right here.”

She smiled slowly and leaned toward him. “A few more glasses of wine and you’ll be singing a different tune.” 

Her voice was vibrant with laughter, and he knew exactly what she was thinking about: one particularly good night at the Hanged Man many years ago, when he’d been drunk enough to join her on the dance floor. 

He shook his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “Not right now,” he said. 

She laughed at his careful wording. “Fine, fine. I’ll be back later.” She pinched his chin affectionately, then pushed herself to her feet once more and sashayed away. 

Fenris darted a covetous glance at her swaying hips, then looked at his cards once more. “Whose turn is it?”

“Yours,” Cassandra said. 

Blackwall gave Fenris a quizzical look. “Are you really not going to dance with your lady wife tonight?”

Donnic coughed a little laugh, and Aveline replied on Fenris’s behalf. “It’s unlikely,” she said. “Fenris doesn’t dance.”

Blackwall gave her an odd look, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, right, you weren’t there. He actually does dance.”

Aveline’s eyebrows rose, and Donnic looked at Fenris in surprise. “You do?”

“The elf is pretty damned graceful, as it turns out,” Varric said. “Especially under pressure.”

Donnic eyes widened even further. “They’re… they’re kidding, right?”

Fenris swirled his glass of wine. “Unfortunately, no. I was forced to dance with an Orlesian noble at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. But I don’t wish to talk about it right now,” he said loudly as Aveline and Donnic started to demand details. “Ask Varric about it later. Now whose turn is it?”

“Still yours,” Cassandra said flatly, and everyone laughed. 

Two glasses of wine later, Fenris was feeling exceedingly content as the room spun very slightly around him. Aveline and Donnic had gone off to dance, and Dorian had joined Hawke and Isabela and Sera on the table, and Fenris noted with amusement that Carver was dancing with Josephine and looking very happy indeed. 

Fenris, Blackwall and Varric were contentedly discussing the craftsmanship of dwarven versus Dalish daggers when Dorian strode over to them. 

“Fenris, that’s quite enough,” he said imperiously. 

Fenris lazily looked up at him. “Dorian,” he drawled. “What boorish thing have I now done to upset you?”

Blackwall snickered, and Dorian folded his arms. “You need to get off that skinny arse and dance with Hawke. Right now,” he commanded.

Fenris looked at the table where Hawke and the others were dancing, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Isabela and Sera were gone, and Hawke was dancing on the table with the silver-haired Dalish girl that they’d recruited in the Exalted Plains. 

He frowned and rose to his feet. “Where are Sera and Isabela?”

“Sera is chasing Dagna around the courtyard,” Dorian said. “And your charming pirate wench has disappeared to Maker-knows-where with the Iron Bull.”

Varric choked on his ale, and Fenris stared at Dorian in genuine surprise. Bull had been talking about making a play for Isabela, but Fenris hadn’t really thought he would succeed, given Isabela’s rocky history with the qunari.

Varric guffawed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. 

Dorian delicately wrinkled his nose. “I dearly wish I was, but no.” He frowned at Fenris. “Hawke has been dancing with random strangers for the past ten minutes. You should–” 

“Thank you, Dorian,” Fenris said. He carefully slid past Dorian and headed for Hawke’s table as directly as he could, despite the spinning room. 

Hawke was laughing and dancing madly with her silver-haired friend, but her eyes lit up even more when Fenris drew near. “Fenris!” she gasped. She waved at him. “Come on up here with me and Piper–” 

He shook his head and held out a hand to her. “Come,” he said. “Come down. I want to dance with you.” 

Her smile softened and widened. She kissed her new friend on the cheek, then took Fenris’s hand as she stepped down from the table. 

The music smoothed into a slow and gentle ballad, and the noise in the tavern dimmed as Fenris pulled Hawke close. He settled his hand in the middle of her back and stroked her bare and sweaty skin with his thumb, and they settled into a slow and easy sway. 

Hawke sighed happily, and Fenris admired her flushed cheeks for a moment before speaking. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone all night.”

“You didn’t,” she said in surprise. “I was having fun! Having Isabela back is the best. Do you think she’d join the Inquis–” 

Fenris kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. She was radiant, and her dress was so enticing and her skin smelled so delicious, like sweat and caramel and brandy and sandalwood, and… _venhedis,_ she was his _wife_. He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, and Fenris gave himself entirely to the pull of her lips, ignorant of the crowd and the cheering and the music and the noise. 

In the middle of the crowded tavern, Fenris kissed Hawke passionately and ignored everything around them. Nothing else mattered, because there was only Hawke. Everything around them was constantly changing, the people and the places and the whole fucking world, but the one thing that always remained was Hawke. 

He gently pulled away from her and stroked her neck. “I left you alone all night. Forgive me,” he rasped.

She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. You didn’t leave me alone.”

Fenris swallowed hard and shook his head. She wasn’t listening, and he needed her to understand. He didn’t know why it mattered so much that she understand, and perhaps it was the Aggregio talking, but he needed her to understand what he meant. 

“Hawke, I… I will never leave you alone again,” he whispered. “I will always be right by your side. I want you to know that…” 

She stroked his cheek. “Fenris, you never left me alone. Not really. I haven’t been alone since we met. You’ve always been with me, even when you weren’t ready.”

He exhaled shakily. She _did_ understand. He closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to his ear. “You were with me through every important thing,” she whispered. “You saw everything, and you lived all of that shit with me, and… and now we’re – look where we are now. I… fuck, we’re _married_ now. This is amazing.” She kissed his ear, then his cheek, then his ear again. 

“I love you,” she breathed. “I love you so much, Fenris.” 

He squeezed her harder. “Let’s go,” he begged. “I… I want to go.”

“All right,” she whispered. She pulled away from him, and he reluctantly released her as well. 

Then, at the back of the room, Dorian stood on the table. “You absolute scoundrel of a dwarf!” he yelled. He threw his cards down on the table and pointed accusingly at Varric. “You’re using a rigged deck. I know it. I can practically smell the dishonesty emanating from that hirsute chest of yours! Where’s your sense of dwarven honour?”

“Now, now, Sparkler,” Varric said loudly. “Come down from the table, and we’ll talk about it. I’ll write up a contract, all right?”

“I don’t want a damned contract,” Dorian shouted. “I want the royals and the bolt of silk you promised me.” He glanced briefly at Fenris, and despite his scowl, there was the slightest smirk to his lips.

Hawke had both hands clapped over her mouth to hide her laughter. Fenris smiled at Dorian, then carefully guided Hawke toward the tavern exit while Dorian and Varric provided their distraction. 

They stepped outside, and as soon as the tavern door swung shut, Hawke burst into laughter. Then she squealed in alarm when Cole spoke behind them. 

“You made it full,” he said. “Hopeful, happy, swelling like bubbles in a bath, beating back the fear like darkness from a flame.” He smiled at them. 

Hawke beamed at him and pinched his cheek. Then she grabbed Fenris’s hand and dragged him toward the keep. 

They made their way to the castle as quietly as they could despite their mutual inebriation, and Fenris fought to keep his hands to himself. He’d had enough, enough of other people and of being in public, and with Hawke’s back so enticingly exposed and her dress hiked up to her thighs and her loving words ringing in his drunken ears, there was only so much more he could take. 

They made their way through the Great Hall, and Hawke accepted the congratulations and skilfully deflected the attempted conversations of anyone who tried to engage them. Fenris ignored everyone, keeping his eyes on Hawke’s back and her flushed cheeks and the gentle swell of her breasts in her ivory bodice. As soon as they stepped through the door to their quarters, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her. 

She whimpered into his mouth, then gasped fitfully as he pressed his thigh between her legs. “Fenris,” she whimpered. Her fingers plucked at his belt, and her brandy-scented breath was hot against his lips as he lifted his knee between her thighs. “F-fuck. I want you…”

His belt clattered to the floor, and her fingers burrowed beneath the hem of his borrowed tunic. He firmly tilted her chin up and kissed her once more, then groaned as she dipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers. 

He pressed his thigh firmly against her groin, then nipped her bottom lip as she gasped. “Upstairs,” he rasped. “Now.”

Hawke panted and nodded eagerly, and then Fenris was following her as she ran up the stairs. “Are you going to start bossing me around all the time now that you’re my husband?” she asked. 

He huffed in amusement. “Do not pretend you wouldn’t like it. I know how you feel about my alleged ‘bossy voice’.” 

She laughed brightly and grinned over her shoulder at him. “Look how well you know me. I picked my husband well.” She bolted up the last few steps and into their suite proper.

Fenris followed her up the stairs and grabbed her hips. “Where were we?” he said huskily. “Ah, yes. I remember now.” He walked her back toward the nearest wall, then pressed her back against it and lifted her hands over her head. 

She gasped as he twined his fingers carefully with hers, then gasped more desperately still as he pressed his thigh between her legs once more. Her spine arched instantly at the pressure of his leg, and soon she was grinding herself against his thigh as he kissed her fragrant salted neck. 

She moaned and writhed as he held her against the wall. “Fenris, please,” she whimpered. “Put your hands on me.”

He nipped her neck. “Hands?” he mumbled. “Is that all you want?”

“No,” she burst out. “I want _you_. Fuck, I want you, I want you so badly, and now you’re my husband, and…” She broke off and panted as Fenris lifted his face from her neck, and they stared at each other for a moment before she spoke again.

“You’re mine,” she said fiercely. “ _My_ husband.” Then she smiled and gave a little laugh. “I… is it stupid that this makes me so happy? It’s not like anything has changed.”

Fenris shook his head. “It is not stupid,” he murmured. “I have always been yours. And now you are mine as well. _My_ wife. I… This was not something I ever dreamed I could have.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He released her hands and stroked her neck. “Slaves can only marry in Tevinter if their masters allow it.”

Her mouth dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise, and she winced. “ _Oh._ Fuck. I–”

He kissed her gently to cut her off, then leaned away to gaze seriously at her once more. “I did not get to say everything today that I wanted to say. I… I tried, but I…” He sighed. “I admit, I got nervous. Saying such things in front of everyone…”

“But what you said was beautiful!” she protested. “Fenris, I loved what you said.”

“It was not enough,” he said. “It was not everything I meant to say.” He swallowed hard. “Hawke, I was empty when we met. No, I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “That is not true. I was full. Full of rage, full of… of resentment and preconceptions and… I was so angry, and you made that go away.” 

He cupped her cheek and studied her beautiful bronze eyes. “There is room now,” he whispered. “I made room for you, and there is room for… for other things. Other people. For hope and… and for friends. I would have none of that if not for you.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Meeting you was the most important thing that has ever happened to me. Being with you, standing witness to your life as you stand witness to mine: this the most important thing I shall ever do. Nothing will ever matter more than the moment you opened your life to me.” 

She was smiling, smiling so widely just like she had when they were getting married, and Fenris gently swept a tear from her cheek. Then they were kissing once more, kissing while he pinned her wrist to the wall and tugged her panties down, kissing while he slipped his fingers between her legs to feel her eagerness, kissing as she unbuttoned his trousers with her free hand and freed him from the confining fabric. And then he was lifting her up, and her legs were around his waist and he was gasping into her mouth, gasping as he slid inside of her for their first time as husband and wife. 

Hawke’s fingers pulled at his hair, and his teeth pulled gently at her lip, and he held her against the wall and fucked her until his arms began to tire. He carried her to the bed and fell onto the mattress with Hawke beneath him, and then they were kissing once more as he smoothed his fingers over her sex. 

He stroked the swollen bud of her clit, watching her face as it twisted with rapture, and when she cried out her pleasure, Fenris settled between her legs and joined with her once more. Her feet smoothed over his buttocks and shoved his trousers down below his hips, and she plucked at his collar until he impatiently dragged the tunic off and threw it aside. He nipped her breast through the corset of her dress, and she shoved the cup down so he could take her nipple in his mouth. She whimpered his name, and he groaned against her skin, and they fucked with desperation and happiness and love, all the things that would fill the rest of their lives as they walked side-by-side through the confusion and uncertainty of this swiftly-changing world. 

When his climax came upon him, rushing through his abdomen and up through his throat and forcing him to shut his eyes, he shuddered and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. 

“I love you,” he said brokenly. “Rynne… I love you.”

“I know,” she breathed. She stroked his hair and the tip of his ear. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

He swallowed and nodded. Hawke’s fingers were gentle on his neck and his shoulders and hair, and as their sweat cooled and their breathing eased to a slow and steady flow, Fenris slowly trailed his lips along her cheekbone, then kissed her one more time. 

This was just the beginning. This moment as they lay together in their bed, lips meeting and parting delicately in the torrid aftermath: this was just the beginning, as every time had been since the very first, all those years ago. Every day was another one they spent together, and every moment they spent twined in each other’s arms was another that would lead into the next, and so their lives would spin out day after day until the very end. 

_Forever and a day,_ Hawke said. That was the time he and Hawke would spend together. With Hawke’s beringed hand clasped in his, Fenris would meet everything this world would throw their way, forever and a day.

***********************

Looks like we made it  
Look how far we've come my baby  
We might've took the long way  
We knew we'd get there someday

They said, "I bet they'll never make it"  
But just look at us holding on  
We're still together, still going strong

You're still the one I run to  
The one that I belong to  
You're still the one I want for life  
You're still the one that I love  
The only one I dream of  
You're still the one I kiss goodnight

\- ["You're Still The One," by Shania Twain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNZH-emehxA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't too sickly for everyone! [raises a glass of Aggregio] Benefaris, all!
> 
> Next up will be one more chapter at Skyhold, I think, and then off to the Western Approach to meet with Stroud. Also known as PLOT, and Adamant Fortress...
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to stop by! xo


	23. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lethendralis-paints on Tumblr did [this BEAUTIFUL GROUP PORTRAIT of Fenris and the Inquisition ](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/185574160218/fenris-and-the-inquisition-when-the-sharpest-words) for me. Please check it out and marvel at how fucking perfect it is!

Hawke gave Isabela a wheedling look. “Are you sure you don’t want to join the Inquisition? We’re fun, I swear.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Are we?” 

“We aren’t, really,” Carver said. 

Hawke tutted and flicked Carver and Varric’s earlobes. “Of course we are! We’re lots of fun.” She turned to Isabela with an earnest expression. “Sera loves pranks as much as I do, and Solas is… well, he could honestly use a break from his books to stare at a gorgeous pair of breasts once in a while. And I think Blackwall could use your special pirate’s touch.” She leaned closer to Isabela and lowered her voice. “He hasn’t had sex in _years._ ”

“Rynne,” Carver hissed. Varric snorted and Donnic cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Isabela ignored them all and waved dismissively. “Oh please. I’m not running a charity for lonely cocks here.”

Hawke widened her eyes. “What, you don’t think Blackwall is good-looking?” 

“Oh, sure,” Isabela said. “But he’s so... sad.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am _not_ interested in that.” 

Hawke recoiled slightly in surprise. “Sad?” She looked askance at Fenris. “Have you noticed that Blackwall is sad?”

Fenris shrugged. “A little broody, perhaps. But that is not unexpected. He _is_ a Grey Warden.”

Isabela snickered. “You obviously haven’t watched him chopping wood out by those stables of yours. He cuts every log like he wishes he was cutting off his own head.”

Hawke grinned. “So you’ve been watching him chopping wood, then.”

Isabela grinned in return and bumped Hawke with her hip. “I never said I didn’t think about it, sweet thing. The man’s built like an ox. I bet he could go for hours.”

Hawke laughed raucously and slung her arm around Isabela’s neck. Carver grimaced, then turned to Aveline and Donnic. “Guard-Captain. Lieutenant,” he said, and he bowed slightly to them. “Safe travels back to Kirkwall.”

Aveline smiled and patted Carver’s shoulder in a maternal manner. “Take care of yourself and your sister, you hear?”

“I always do,” he muttered. He shook their hands, then turned to Isabela. “Captain–” 

She sidled up to him and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Take care, big boy,” she purred. “Do yourself a favour and make good with that sweet little Josephine, will you? Do it for me.” She winked at him. 

Carver hunched his shoulders and rubbed the back of his swiftly reddening neck. “Hmph,” he said. “Well. Templar duties. Commander Cullen, er, needs help…” He turned on his heel and strode away. 

Hawke and Varric laughed as Carver hurried off. Aveline sighed wearily before turning to Fenris. “Thank you again for having us,” she said. “It was a wonderful wedding. And it’s a good cause you have here – you seem to be doing very good work.” She gave him an approving look. “You’ve certainly come a long way from squatting in Hightown, haven’t you?”

Fenris huffed. “You could say that. Somehow I have gone from breaking the law to being asked to lay it down.” He glanced at his glowing left palm, then closed his hand into a fist and looked at Aveline once more. “Care to trade positions with me, Guard-Captain?”

She chuckled. “Don’t kid yourself, Fenris. You couldn’t handle Kirkwall.”

He laughed. “You are not wrong.” He shook her proferred hand, then shook Donnic’s hand in turn. “Thank you for coming, my friend. It is good to see you so well. All of you.” He smiled at Aveline and Isabela. 

Isabela stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks. “You too, handsome. Take good care of my girl here.” She playfully chucked Hawke’s chin. 

Hawke laughed. “He always does,” she said, in a very suggestive tone. 

Isabela snickered lewdly, and Fenris shook his head in exasperation. Aveline rolled her eyes, then patted Hawke’s shoulder. “Behave yourself, you hear?”

Hawke placed a hand on her chest and batted her eyelashes. “Me, behave badly? Perish the thought.” She hugged Aveline tightly, then hugged Donnic as well. 

Varric smiled at Aveline and held out his hand. “Wave to the Twins for me when you get home, will you?”

Aveline smirked as she shook his hand. “I will. And I’ll pass on your greetings to Bran, as well.”

Varric barked out a laugh. “Don’t do that. He’ll just send me more letters if you do.” He shook Donnic’s hand as well. “Better luck next time, buddy.” 

Donnic laughed ruefully, and Aveline primly lifted her chin. “That’s what you get for placing such a large bet on a terrible hand,” she told him.

Isabela tutted. “Go easy on him, big girl. Just because you’re not allowed to play...”

“I didn’t want to play anyway,” Aveline snapped. “I have better things to do.”

Donnic pulled an apologetic face and soothingly rubbed her back, and Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide his smirk while Hawke snickered into her hands. 

Varric waved dismissively. “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said to Aveline. “You’re not missing out.”

“Then why you lot are always playing all the time…” Aveline muttered. 

Hawke laughed out loud. “Maker’s balls, I love you all.” She threw her arms around Aveline’s neck once more. “Come and visit us, okay? Please? It’s so nice having you here.” She released Aveline, then hugged Isabela tightly once more. 

Isabela patted her back. “The offer to join my crew still stands, you know,” she said. She looked at Fenris. “I mean it. Send me a raven and I’ll pick you up anywhere you like along the Waking Sea.”

Fenris smirked and bowed slightly to her. “We will consider it.”

Hawke squeezed Isabela for a moment longer, then pulled away and briskly wiped her eyes before smiling at them. “All right, you three, go on,” she said cheerfully. “We barely have enough room for you, anyway.” She gestured grandly at Skyhold’s enormous walls. 

Donnic and Varric chuckled. Isabela kissed Hawke’s cheeks, and Hawke laughed and haphazardly waved her off. With a last round of goodbyes and handshakes and hugs, Aveline and Donnic and Isabela took their leave. 

Fenris glanced at Hawke. Her hands were tucked in her pockets, and she was watching with a smile as their friends strolled along the drawbridge and back out into the cold mountain air. 

He placed a hand at the small of her back. “Are you all right?” he murmured. 

“Of course!” she said brightly. “It was great to see them! Some things never change, do they? Aveline and Donnic are as ridiculous as ever. Although I swear Isabela’s breasts have gotten plumper. I should have asked her if I could feel them myself to confirm. For research, you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows salaciously. 

She was smiling as always, but her eyes were suspiciously bright. Fenris soothingly stroked her back. “Hmm,” he said. “Research, indeed. The dimensions of Isabela’s bosom are rather lofty academic goals.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Then she pulled Varric close and hugged him around the shoulders. “You and your whole ‘the Inquisition isn’t fun’ thing,” she scolded playfully. “I’m surprised you didn’t go running back to good old Kirkwall with the others.”

Varric patted Hawke’s hip. “Ah, I know you and the broody one couldn’t live without me,” he said. “Besides, someone needs to document all the shit that happens around here.”

Fenris folded his arms and smirked. “We do have official historians, you know. And Leliana’s people are constantly taking notes–”

He broke off as Hawke pinched his arm. “Of course we need you, Varric,” Hawke said loudly. “Historians are all fine and good, but we need someone who will tell this story right.”

Varric chuckled. “And _that_ is why I stick around. I need you to inflate my ego for me.”

Hawke laughed again, then slung her arm around Fenris’s neck and pulled him close as well. “My favourite men,” she said fondly. “You and Carv, of course. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Be bored forever, probably.” 

“You’d find some way to entertain yourself, I’m sure,” Varric said. 

Hawke tilted her head thoughtfully. “You’re right. What was I thinking? You’re all imminently replaceable.” She released them both, then kissed Varric on the forehead and Fenris on the cheek before stepping away. “Off to find Solas and Fiona. Wicked grace later?”

“You got it,” Varric said. Fenris nodded to her, and with a final smiling wink, she left. 

They waited until Hawke was out of earshot. Then Varric looked up at Fenris. “She’s upset.”

“She misses them,” Fenris said quietly. Privately, he knew that Hawke was also upset that there had been no word at all from Merrill. He was starting to wonder if they should ask Leliana’s people to search for Merrill, purely for Hawke’s sake. But he was also worried about what Leliana’s spies might find. Whether Merrill was in trouble or actively shunning contact, both options would only distress Hawke even further.

Varric twisted his lips ruefully. “Well, Isabela did agree to send intel and goodies back to the Inquisition. Maybe she’ll bring herself along for a visit once in a while, too.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. “Or we could simply abandon this endeavour entirely and join Isabela’s crew.” He smirked wryly at Varric, who chuckled in response. Both men knew there was no way for Fenris to leave the Inquisition now – not while Corypheus was still alive. And if Fenris wasn’t going anywhere, then neither was Hawke.

They turned away from the main gates and wandered slowly toward the stairs. Varric tucked his hands in his pockets and gave Fenris an appraising look. “Aveline is right, you know. You’re doing good work with the Inquisition.”

Fenris shot him an odd look. “So are you. So is everyone here.”

Varric smiled faintly. “Always so modest. All right, I’ll go easy on you.” He patted Fenris’s elbow. “Going to see if I can finish another chapter for Cassandra before we head out tomorrow. If she has something to read for the road, she’ll spend less time glaring disapprovingly at me.” 

Fenris smirked. If Varric wished to pretend his and Cassandra’s contentious relationship wasn’t gradually softening, then Fenris wasn’t going to press him on it. “A solid plan,” he said. 

Varric nodded in farewell, then made his way up the stairs toward the Great Hall. Once he was alone, Fenris sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. They were leaving for the Western Approach tomorrow, and he had to meet with Josephine and the other advisors in a few hours to discuss what tasks they should prioritize while Fenris was away. 

He sighed again and turned around, then immediately bumped into someone – a short someone: a boy with brown hair and brown eyes, who looked to be about ten years of age.

Fenris took a step back. “Pardon me,” he said. 

The boy smiled. “You’re the Inquisitor,” he said. “Mother didn’t tell me the Inquisitor was an elf.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. The boy’s expression was curious but calm; very calm, in fact, for a boy so young. There was something about this boy’s stillness of manner that seemed oddly incongruent – almost as though the look on his face didn’t quite match his youthful age.

Fenris studied the boy a bit more carefully. He didn’t think he’d ever seen this child before, but that wasn’t saying much; there were so many people residing in Skyhold now that Fenris was certain he’d never recognize everyone within their ranks. The boy was wearing Orlesian clothing, so perhaps he and his parents had been recruited during their trip to Halamshiral.

Fenris tilted his head. “Who is your mother?”

The boy blinked up at him. “Mother is the Inheritor: she who awaits the next age.”

Fenris recoiled, then frowned at the boy. What did that mean? What kind of child said something like that?

“Kieran, are you bothering the Inquisitor?” 

Fenris turned around. Morrigan was approaching, and her lips were curled in a fond little smile as she regarded the boy.

“Of course not,” Kieran said. He smiled up at Morrigan as she came to stand beside him, then pointed at Fenris’s left hand. “Did you see what’s on his hand, Mother?”

Fenris tucked his hands into his pockets. Morrigan shot him a quick look, then smiled at the boy once more. “I did see,” she said. She brushed her hand over the back of Kieran’s neck. “‘Tis time to return to your studies, little man.”

Kieran sighed, and for a moment he seemed like an average ten-year-old boy. Morrigan gave him a reproving look, and with a resigned little bow to Fenris, he turned and trudged away. 

Morrigan smiled at Fenris. “My son,” she said. “Never where you expect him to be, naturally.” 

Fenris eyed her suspiciously. “You did not mention you had a son.”

“No, I did not,” she agreed. “I take great pains to not let my own reputation affect him in any way.” Her gaze drifted in the direction Kieran had gone, and her usual matter-of-fact expression softened slightly. “In the Imperial Court, he was known only as a quiet and well-spoken lad – perhaps the heir of some distant family. But he goes where I go.” She returned her gaze to Fenris and folded her hands behind her back. “Fear not, Inquisitor. Kieran is a curious boy, but seldom troublesome.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “He said something odd before you arrived. He said you were… the Inheritor. ‘She who awaits the next age’.” He folded his arms. “What did he mean by that?”

Morrigan laughed lightly. “From the mouths of babes. The fanciful words of an imaginative child, Inquisitor. Nothing more.”

Fenris’s sense of ‘offness’ increased. Morrigan’s response was casual and calm, but quick – far too quick. 

He folded his arms. “Your son is unusual. You cannot deny that.”

Morrigan’s smile remained, but her odd yellow eyes hardened slightly. “He is a very special young man, yes,” she said coolly.

“Special in what way?” Fenris asked. 

“In every way,” Morrigan replied. She pursed her lips and looked away briefly, and when her gaze returned to Fenris’s face, it was soft once more. “At first, Kieran was a means to an end. But as he grew…” She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before speaking. “I never thought of myself as a mother. I had no good example to follow. I… I find myself becoming something I can barely recognize.”

Fenris eyed her thoughtfully. Her response was strange, particularly the comment about Kieran being a means to an end. There was clearly more to Kieran’s story than she was choosing to share, and Fenris couldn’t decide whether he thought Morrigan wanted to speak further of her son or not. Furthermore, the more Morrigan spoke, the more something about her seemed to tug at his memory: something about her words or her mannerisms, perhaps. 

“Remind me where you are from,” he said. 

Morrigan huffed in amusement and folded her arms. “Ah, yes. Whence comes the mystery woman, slinking her way into the Inquisition’s ranks?”

“Exactly,” Fenris said flatly. 

She smirked, and Fenris gritted his teeth against an instinctive rush of annoyance at her supercilious expression. “Once I was an apostate, living well away from the banal influence of the Chantry in the Korcari Wilds,” she said. “Then came the Fifth Blight with its darkspawn, and I left Ferelden for the Empress’s Courts.” She shifted her weight casually to one hip. “‘Tis certain the nobles of Orlais breathe a collective sigh of relief that I am now here.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe the Empress permitted an apostate to stand openly by her side for so many years.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Ah, let me guess. You believe I enchanted Celene? Placed her under the influence of some malevolent spell? Dreaded blood magic, perhaps?”

Her tone was snide. Fenris narrowed his eyes and didn’t reply. 

Morrigan smiled faintly. “Rest assured, Inquisitor, my influence required nothing so brutish as that. Most people expect apostates to cower and hide. I stand boldly before them and demand to know why I need some Chantry mage to teach me to control my power. They would put me on a leash so they can feel safe at night?” She scoffed again and imperiously lifted her chin. “I am uninterested in their comfort.”

Fenris studied her with growing mistrust. Then he suddenly remembered exactly why Morrigan seemed so familiar – her speech, her arrogant posture, even her strange lemon-coloured eyes. 

The realization struck him like a hammerblow. “I have heard of you before,” he blurted. 

Morrigan twisted her lips wryly. “Ah, yes. I can only assume my reputation–”

Fenris interrupted her. “Your mother is the Witch of the Wilds,” he accused. “The Korcari witch, Flemeth.”

Morrigan’s expression instantly slackened in shock. She regained her composure swiftly, straightening her posture and smoothing her expression back into a look of cynical boredom, but her eyes were hard as marble. “Of course. Your dear spymaster likely told you of my… unfortunate provenance,” she said quietly. 

Fenris watched her carefully as he replied. “No. In fact, Hawke and I met the witch a number of years ago. She… emerged from an amulet. The result of some cursed Dalish ritual, it seemed.” That was the first time he and Hawke had met Merrill, in fact, and the first time Merrill had dragged them into something better left alone. He was annoyed at himself for not recalling the incident sooner, and for not having a clearer memory of what Flemeth had said about her daughter at the time. 

Morrigan’s lips flattened very slightly as he spoke. Then she looked away. “Unfortunate for you,” she said. Her tone was sharp with bitterness. “Flemeth does not show herself without some ulterior purpose, whether you are aware of it or not.”

“That was my impression as well,” Fenris said. He couldn’t recall Flemeth’s exact words to Hawke, but he remembered finding it odd that the witch had focused so much of her attention on Hawke when Merrill was the one who had unlocked the cursed amulet. Now, in the context of everything that had happened to Hawke in the ensuing years, not to mention their current predicament, Flemeth’s interest seemed particularly ominous.

Fenris and Morrigan eyed each other in silence for a moment. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You have accusations, Inquisitor. ‘Tis clear as day in your face. Rest assured that I am _not_ my mother, and my appearance does not herald terrible misfortune for you.” She bowed slightly to him. “You do not want me here, I know. But I will do my best to aid your cause with all the knowledge at my disposal. This I swear to you.”

Fenris blinked in surprise. This sudden humility was not what he’d expected.

He folded his arms and eyed her impassively. Her words might be humble, but her actions in the coming days were what counted. “How have you aided us so far?” he asked. “What can you tell us that we do not already know?”

Her expression remained neutral, but he saw her shoulders relax at the change of topic. “Currently, my efforts are focused on determining what Corypheus is, and from where his power comes,” she said. “The elven orb he carries is what draws my attention. I wonder if the power he used to tear to tear open the Fade came from the orb. Perhaps it is even the source of your anchor.”

Fenris frowned. “It is,” he said. “Solas said as much. Perhaps you and he should pool your efforts and work together.”

Morrigan pursed her lips. “I see,” she said slowly. “I will… consider your suggestion.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. She seemed very put off by the idea, and he wasn’t sure why. 

He shifted his weight restlessly. So far this conversation had given him nothing but further misgivings about both Morrigan and her unusual son. 

“Corypheus has a dragon,” he said. “Some say it is an archdemon. You fought an archdemon during the Blight, Leliana says.”

Morrigan nodded brusquely, and Fenris expectantly raised his eyebrows. “Well? Is Corypheus’s beast an archdemon? Is that what we are dealing with?”

Morrigan shrugged elegantly. “A true archdemon is supposedly the corrupted form of an old god. Has Corypheus actually dug up one of the ancient prisons of the old gods? If so, why has a new Blight not begun?” She shook her head. “His dragon is something else. Something connected to his blighted nature as well as his magic. Beyond that, I cannot say.”

Fenris grunted. That was some comfort, at least. “I would advise you to check in with the other apostates,” he said. “Share what you know, and learn what you can. Perhaps they can provide insight.”

Morrigan pursed her lips once more, then bowed slightly. “Inquisitor.”

Her tone was perfectly polite and perfectly flat. Fenris eyed her for a moment longer, then nodded in farewell. “Morrigan,” he said. He turned and walked away.

He made his way toward the stairs to the southern parapet, intending to visit the mage tower and speak with Hawke. He knew she was busy conferring with Fiona and Solas prior to their departure for the Western Approach, but the encounter with Morrigan – and the memory of having met her mother almost ten years ago – was disturbing somehow. He wanted to know what Hawke remembered of it, and what it might mean for Morrigan’s presence at Skyhold now. 

Before he could make it to the tower, however, one of Leliana’s scouts ran up to him. “Inquisitor,” she said breathlessly, “Sister Nightingale asked me to fetch you. We have a visitor from Tevinter: a Magister Halward Pavus–” 

Fenris stared at the scout in shock. “Magister Pavus?” he demanded. He’d sent a letter to Qarinus weeks ago, before they’d left for Halamshiral, but he genuinely hadn’t expected a response. And he certainly hadn’t expected Dorian’s father to actually show up.

The scout nodded, and Fenris frowned. “Where is he now?”

“In the dungeon,” the scout reported. “His entourage waits outside of Skyhold’s walls. Sister Nightingale said the dungeon would be the most secure and private place for a… sensitive discussion.”

Fenris curled his lip. _Sensitive discussion, indeed._ A private fight to the death, more like, if Dorian’s father turned out to be associated with the Venatori in any way. 

“Is Dorian aware?” he asked. 

“No, Your Worship,” the scout said. 

“Find him,” Fenris said. “Tell him to meet me at the entrance to the dungeons. And ask him to be… discreet.” Fenris did not want to alert the rest of Skyhold to the magister’s presence unless it was strictly necessary.

The scout saluted sharply and ran off, and Fenris changed his route and headed for the courtyard entrance to Skyhold’s dungeon. Already his blood was pumping faster in anticipation of a fight. 

Five minutes later, Dorian was striding toward him. “He’s here, is he?” Dorian said. “Or is it some simple thug dressed in magister’s robes waiting to abduct me? ‘Surprise, surprise, it’s all a trick! Let’s see if we can drag Dorian away more times than we can count on two hands!’” 

Dorian’s scowl and the sharpness of his voice undercut his attempts at humour. Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Has your father abducted you before?”

Dorian laughed. It was an extremely bitter sound. “Fenris, you have no idea what my father has done. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard. Ah, but I suppose you have been out of the Tevinter gossip circuit for some time – lucky you.” 

Fenris grunted. He glanced at Dorian’s empty hands. “You came unarmed,” he said. 

“Unarmed, perhaps, but never unprepared,” Dorian retorted. “You did say to be discreet. Believe me, I can fight without a staff if need be.” He eyed Fenris’s unarmed form in turn. “And you? No large phallic implements of death for our dear Inquisitor?”

“I bear the weapons I require in my skin,” Fenris said quietly. “As your father no doubt remembers.” 

Dorian’s scowl softened slightly. “Ah. Of course,” he said. He gestured at the door with a flourish. “Shall we?”

They descended the stairs to the dungeon. At the base of the stairs, they immediately spotted their guest: a tall older man, guarded by three of the Inquisition’s mages and two of Cullen’s men. 

Magister Halward turned around at their approach. “Dorian,” he said quietly. His eyes snapped to Fenris’s face, then darted to his tattooed neck before rising back to meet his gaze. “Inquisitor,” he said. “I apologize for the deception. I confess, I was surprised when I received your letter.”

“Surprised by a letter written in a slave’s own hand?” Fenris said flatly. 

Halward bowed his head. “No. I simply… I never intended for you to be involved.” 

_Involved in what?_ Fenris thought, but Dorian spoke before Fenris could ask. “Of course not,” he said sarcastically. “Magister Pavus didn’t want to be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” He took a slow step closer to Halward. “What is this exactly, Father? Ambush? Attempted kidnapping gone wrong? Warm family reunion?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows slightly. If the magister’s visit truly was a personal one, he wasn’t particularly keen to get involved in their personal matter. But he had to admit to some concern. Dorian could certainly be dramatic, but Fenris had never seen him this angry before.

Fenris folded his arms. ”Dorian, do you want me to stay? What is my purpose here?”

“By all means, stay,” Dorian snapped. “I want a witness. I want someone to hear the truth.”

“Dorian,” Halward said sharply, “there’s no need to–”

Dorian spun toward Fenris. “I prefer the company of men,” he said loudly. “My father disapproves.”

“Ah. I see,” Fenris said. It was not particularly surprising for Dorian to confirm this, but Fenris instantly saw the problem. “Less than ideal, given the bloodline you were meant to carry.”

“Precisely,” Dorian bit off. He glared at his father as he spoke to Fenris. “You know how it is back home. Families intermarrying to distill the perfect mage: perfect body, perfect mind, the perfect leader. Every perceived flaw, every _aberration_ , is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.” 

Halward frowned sternly, but his nervously twisting hands gave him away. “This display is uncalled for,” he said. 

“No, it _is_ called for,” Dorian retorted. “You called for it by contacting that sanctimonious Chantry hen behind my back!”

Halward sighed and rubbed his forehead. “This is not what I wanted.”

Dorian took another step closer to him. “I’m never what you wanted, Father,” he said acidly. “Or had you forgotten?”

Halward took a step back as though Dorian had shoved him. Dorian turned away from his father, and Fenris watched him shrewdly in the ensuing awkward silence. Dorian’s lips and jaw were tight with anger, and as Fenris studied his thinly-veiled distress, a memory rose to his mind.

It was a thought of Varania and Danarius, and of the bystanders during that confrontation in the Hanged Man all those years ago: far too many bystanders observing Fenris’s terrible moment of vulnerability. 

Fenris glanced at the wide-eyed mages and guards who’d been supervising Halward. He jerked his head toward the dungeon stairs to dismiss them, then folded his arms and looked at Halward once more. “Dorian has other tasks to attend. If you had nothing more to say–”

“No,” Halward said. He took a step toward his son. “Please, Dorian, if you’ll only listen to me…”

“Why?” Dorian demanded. “So you can spout more convenient lies?” He looked at Fenris. “He taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind’: those are his words.” He took a deep breath and faced his father once more. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to _change_ me!”

His voice cracked, leaving his words to echo through the dungeon. Dorian bowed his head and drew a deep, tremulous breath. 

Fenris stared at Dorian in shock for a moment. Then he speared the magister with a venomous look. “You did _what_?” he hissed.

Halward ignored him. “I only wanted what was best for you!” he said plaintively to Dorian. He took a step toward his son, then stopped short as he met Fenris’s gaze. 

Dorian glared at his father. “You wanted the best for _you,_ ” he shouted. “For your fucking legacy. Anything for that!”

Halward opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris cut him off. “You attempted blood magic on your own kin?” he demanded. “Controlling slaves was not enough for you, it seems. You needed to control your son as well?”

Halward shook his head. “No. It wasn’t–” 

“Blood magic is poison. It brings nothing but ruin and corruption,” Fenris snarled. “You would poison your own son because he refused to bow to your wishes?”

Halward buried his face in one shaking hand. In the ugly silence that followed, the only sounds were Fenris’s own heartbeat in his ears and Halward’s slow, careful breaths. 

“Tell me why you came,” Dorian said suddenly. 

Fenris looked at him. He was studying his father with a surprising degree of calm. 

Halward lowered his hand and stared pleadingly at Dorian. “If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition–”

Dorian wilted in exasperation. “You didn’t,” he said. “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once, I had a father who would have known that.” He broke off and pressed his lips together, then turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs. 

Fenris silently followed him. But before they could leave, Halward spoke again. “Once, I had a son who trusted me. I trust I betrayed,” he said softly. “I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To… to ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian stopped short with his hand on the banister. He took a deep breath, then another, then looked at Fenris. 

His eyes were bright with tears, and with disbelief and hope. Fenris frowned slightly. “You believe him?” he said, very quietly. 

Dorian swallowed hard. “I… don’t know.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Then Fenris speared Halward with a hard look. “I will be upstairs. If I detect a hint of malice from this room, I will tear your heart from your chest.”

Halward’s eyebrows rose. Dorian huffed in amusement and briskly wiped his eyes. “I always knew you cared,” he quipped half-heartedly. 

Fenris scowled at him. “Be cautious, Dorian. I do not trust him.”

Dorian nodded. “Fair enough.” He stepped back into the dungeon and slowly approached his father.

Fenris pursed his lips, then made his way up the stairs alone. When he stepped through the door back into the courtyard, he was surprised to find Hawke waiting there. 

She pushed away from the wall and reached for Fenris as he emerged from the dungeon. “What’s going on?” she asked worriedly. “Leliana told us that Dorian’s father is here. Is Dorian all right? What’s happening?”

“A father-and-son heart-to-heart, it seems,” Fenris said snidely. He came to stand against the wall beside her. 

Hawke widened her eyes. “Really? Shit.” She leaned back against the wall. “His father must have said something really good to get him to stick around for a chat.”

“He asked forgiveness,” Fenris said. “He is not deserving of it.”

Hawke grimaced. “I take it you heard the whole blood magic story, then.”

Fenris snorted in disgust. “It is a vile tale,” he said. “An example of the worst kind of corruption among the magisterium. That need to control everything, to – to have power over everything and everyone…” He shook his head. “And Dorian is considering forgiveness. To forgive such a thing is to give tacit permission for it to recur.”

Hawke sighed. “I don’t know if it’s as simple as–”

“There is no forgiveness for the use of such abhorrent blood magic,” Fenris hissed. “Even if his father did not perform the ritual. It is… there is no forgiving that kind of abuse.”

Hawke was silent for a moment. Then she slipped her hand into Fenris’s. “It’s complicated,” she said quietly. “Family is always complicated.”

“Ah, family. Something I do not have. No wonder I don’t understand,” Fenris snapped. Then he immediately sighed and squeezed her hand. 

“I do not mean that,” he said. He gazed at her apologetically. “I am sorry, Hawke. You know I didn’t–”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. She reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “I know what you meant.”

He nodded, and they leaned back against the wall in silence for a moment. Then Hawke spoke in a very quiet voice. “Do you… Have you thought about trying to find Varania?”

“No,” he said bluntly. 

Hawke nodded, and they fell quiet again. But Fenris was fairly certain what Hawke was thinking, and if he was being completely honest, he was thinking the same.

Of course he’d thought of having Leliana’s people search for his sister. He still thought about Cole’s words sometimes: _She lives in a place that’s not her home, toiling as a tailor like she told you before._ If that meant Varania was still in the south somewhere, perhaps she could be found.

He shook off the thought. It would be an abuse of his position to ask Leliana to search for Varania. Besides, Fenris was famous now – more famous than he ever wanted to be. Even if Varania was living in some small secluded town, she would have heard by now that he was the Inquisitor. If she wanted to get in touch with him, she had ample means to do so. 

All of this was moot, though, because Varania had betrayed him. She was his sister – his family – and she’d tried to sell him to Danarius for the cursed power it would afford her. Fenris wasn’t going to search for her, because he wanted nothing to do with her. Who would want to reconnect with someone like that? Who would want someone like that for their family? 

He sighed quietly. Then Hawke leaned against him and stroked his lyrium-lined arm with her free hand. 

Fenris looked down at her. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back at the undiluted affection in her gaze. 

Then he remembered his earlier conversation with Morrigan. He straightened up slightly. “Hawke, I meant to tell you. I was speaking with Morrigan in the courtyard. She–”

“Oh yes, she’s interesting, isn’t she?” Hawke said. She snickered. “Smart, but smug as hell. And bloody gorgeous, which goes without saying. Her son is even more interesting, though. At first I wondered if he was a spirit-boy or something, like Cole.”

Fenris stared at her, diverted from his original thought by this alarming notion. “I – what?” 

“Oh, I don’t really think he is,” she said reassuringly. “He’s probably just spent too much time around his weird mother. But he said some strange things to me. Something about ‘a hawk flying into its destiny’. And he said your blood is very old.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “My blood?”

She scratched her chin. “Yes, when I mentioned that we were married. But I think he meant elves in general, not just you.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. Kieran really was an exceedingly odd child. Then he shook his head and grasped her arm. “Hawke, do you remember when we first met Merrill? We followed her up that cursed mountain and she performed that Dalish ritual–”

“–and that Flemeth dragon-witch-woman came out of the amulet?” Hawke interrupted excitedly. “Maker’s balls, yes. How could I forget?”

Fenris studied her unsuspecting face. So she didn’t quite remember, either. “Flemeth mentioned a daughter. Do you recall?”

Hawke frowned. “Oh. Yes. She said a lot of weird things, but… yes, that’s right.”

“Morrigan is her daughter,” Fenris said. 

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Wh-what? Oh. Oh shit, you’re right. Shit.” She trailed off, and for a moment they just stared at each other. 

She licked her lips nervously. “Bit of a weird coincidence, that. So… so you think her being here has anything to do with her mother?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t know. Can you recall what Flemeth said about her?”

Hawke pulled a face. “She and Morrigan didn’t get along. That was pretty clear. Something about Morrigan not trusting her? I’m… I’m not sure.”

Fenris nodded. “That fits with what Morrigan said. She seemed shocked when I mentioned Flemeth. And considerably displeased.”

Hawke hummed an acknowledgement. “If Morrigan was shocked to hear of her, then maybe it is just a coincidence.” 

Fenris shrugged. It was possible. But what were the chances of such a coincidence? 

_Probably the same chances as myself getting marked with this cursed anchor,_ he thought resentfully. 

The dungeon door opened. Fenris and Hawke immediately pushed away from the wall as Dorian stepped out.

He smiled as he caught sight of them. “The newlyweds are waiting just for me? Bored of each other’s company already?”

Fenris frowned. Dorian was smiling, but his eyes were quite puffy and red. “Where–” He broke off as Dorian stepped aside, allowing his father to step out into the courtyard behind him. 

Dorian’s expression grew somber. “Magister Halward is leaving,” he announced to Hawke and Fenris. “If someone wants to advise darling Leliana of his departure…”

“ _You_ can let her know,” Hawke interrupted. “I’ll escort the dear magister to the gates.” 

Fenris looked at her. Despite her sympathetic words about family being complicated, the look she was giving Dorian’s father was downright hostile.

Dorian smiled faintly. “You’re not going to murder my father between here and the front gates of Skyhold, are you?”

“That depends,” Hawke said. “Do you want me to?”

Halward frowned, and Dorian chuckled. “Such a charming, sweet-natured girl. No, thank you, I think he can survive for now.” He turned to his father, and his expression grew serious once again. “Father. I…” He trailed off, then nodded brusquely. “Farewell.”

Halward shot his son a pleading look. “Dorian…”

Dorian shook his head and took a step back. “That’s enough for now,” he said quietly. 

Halward sighed. He nodded politely to Fenris. “Inquisitor,” he said. 

Fenris jerked his head in a pale imitation of a nod. With a last lingering look at Dorian, Halward turned away and made his way toward the gates, with Hawke hovering threateningly at his elbow. 

Dorian released a gusty breath and folded his arms. His eyes were on his father’s back as he walked away. “He says we’re alike. Too much pride,” he said. “Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now… I’m not certain.” He leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“I would not blame you if you didn’t,” Fenris said. “To meddle with your mind using blood magic…” He shook his head in disgust. “ _Vishanta kaffas._ ”

Dorian smiled faintly at him. “I know. Foolish, really,” he said. “Perhaps it would have worked. Or perhaps it would have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it,” he said softly. “If he had… I can’t even imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”

“You were wise to leave the Imperium,” Fenris said. He glanced dismissively at Dorian’s departing father. “You escaped before the corruption sank into your soul.” 

Dorian was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You know, Fenris, I… I don’t hate Tevinter,” he said. “I love my country, despite its laundry list of shortcomings. The Imperium is still my home.”

Fenris huffed and didn’t reply. When Dorian’s silence stretched on for longer than usual, Fenris looked at him. 

Dorian was studying him with a thoughtful look on his face. Fenris frowned. “What?”

Dorian tilted his head. “You would never go back, would you?”

Fenris folded his arms. “No,” he said firmly. “There is nothing for me there. There is nothing of substance there for any elf. We are naught to your kind but slaves. Owned slaves in your homes, freed slaves selling goods in your markets… it is all a variant of ownership. Of conquering.” He gave Dorian a hard look. “ _That_ is the legacy of Tevinter. Your father’s attempts to control you are more of the same.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes, and Fenris steadily returned his stare. After a tense moment, Dorian looked away and exhaled slowly, and they stood in silence for some time. 

Finally Dorian pushed away from the wall. “Well, I suppose we should inform our dear spymaster that the threat to Skyhold’s security is gone. I can only hope Hawke didn’t make too much of a mess of the paving stones if she decided to bump him off after all.” 

His tone was light and airy once more. Fenris fell into step beside him as they made their way toward the nearest stairs. “Do not worry about that,” he said. “Hawke wouldn’t risk the mess if she had to cleanse the stones herself.”

Dorian shot him a half-smile. “I suppose that’s something. In any case, thank you for being there.” He chuckled softly. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

Fenris shrugged. “I think no differently of you. I am well aware that you enjoy putting on a show.”

Dorian huffed in amusement as they made their way along the parapet to Solas’s rotunda. “I’m so pleased to provide you amusement.”

“I suppose it is only fair, after the so-called amusement I provided for you at the Winter Palace,” Fenris drawled. 

Dorian threw his head back and laughed. “Ah yes, how could I forget? The Inquisitor scales an Orlesian garden wall in his bare feet. I can only imagine the cleaning staff’s faces the next day. ‘Andraste’s blessed bosom, are those footprints on the trellis?’” 

Fenris scoffed. “They were likely too busy extracting the cakes you threw into the fountain to notice the footprints.”

Dorian laughed merrily. They made their way to the rotunda, then up the stairs on their way to Leliana’s rookery, and the awkwardness of their conversation about Tevinter melted away as they picked on each other about their respective behaviours at the Winter Palace.

Dorian stepped into the library on the second floor of the tower. Then Mother Giselle hurried over. “You,” she said sharply. “If you think–” She stopped short as Fenris emerged from the stairwell behind Dorian. 

“Your Worship,” she said. She bowed to Fenris. “Might I have a word?”

“About what?” Fenris said in surprise. 

Dorian scoffed. “About the scandalous rumours, of course.”

Giselle pursed her lips in displeasure, and Fenris frowned. “Rumours? About what?”

Dorian chuckled and folded his arms. “You truly are living that newlywed life, aren’t you? How nice it must be to float about the castle in such a soft and fluffy cloud of bliss.”

Fenris shot Dorian a reproving look, then turned to Giselle. “What rumours do you speak of?”

Giselle lifted her chin. “There has been talk among the people, Inquisitor. About Master Dorian’s presence at your side. His being from Tevinter…”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “But _I_ am from Tevinter. We discussed this before.”

She nodded. “Yes, Your Worship. But–” 

“Cremisius Aclassi is also from Tevinter,” Fenris added. “The Chargers’ second-in-command. Have there been rumours about his presence, as well? Are you worrying about some form of prejudice within the…?” He trailed off and scowled at Dorian, who was leaning against the bannister for support. “What is the matter with you? Why are you laughing?”

Dorian wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. “Ah, Fenris, I had no idea you were so precious,” he chuckled. 

Fenris scowled more deeply, then turned to Giselle. “These rumours pertain specifically to Dorian, then? Because he is a mage? He fights the Venatori as viciously as I, if that is the concern. He is no Venatori.”

Giselle opened her mouth, then closed it and bowed slightly. “I see,” she said slowly. “I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.”

Her tone was certainly humble, but Fenris noted that she didn’t look at Dorian as she spoke. She bowed deeply to Fenris once more, then turned and wafted down the stairs. 

Dorian smirked at Fenris. “You aren’t even curious what the rumours were?”

Fenris curled his lip. “I am uninterested in rumours or gossip unless they interfere with this cursed job I’ve been dealt. With any luck, this will quell any further rumours regarding your place in all of this.” He cast a disgruntled look at the stairs where Mother Giselle had gone, then jerked his chin at the stairs to Leliana’s rookery. “Now come. We should–”

“Fenris,” Dorian said. 

Fenris looked at him, then raised his eyebrows at Dorian’s oddly soft expression. “What? What is it?” 

Dorian rubbed his chin. “I… I may have said this before, but… you should know I think of you as a friend. Truly. I have precious few friends, and… I didn’t think to find one here. Certainly not in you, given our, er… _history,_ shall we say.”

Fenris grunted. “It is an unlikely partnership, I’ll give you that.” He shrugged and folded his arms awkwardly. “But… yes, I suppose if pressed, one could say–” 

“Stop right there,” Dorian interrupted. “I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this one over with.” He straightened and regarded Fenris with an unusual degree of gravitas. “Allow me to say I’ll stand beside you — against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumour — so long as you’ll have me.”

Fenris studied Dorian’s earnest face for a moment. Then he unfolded his arms and smirked. “Good. You will join us for the trek to the desert, then. I hear it gets extremely cold at night.” 

Dorian grinned as they headed for the stairs. “Of course I’ll come. I wouldn’t dare deprive you of my scintillating presence. But I’ll need you to carry the chest containing all my finest fur blankets–”

“No,” Fenris said flatly. “Absolutely not. You can wear extra layers.” 

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Extra layers covering my beautiful body? Are you mad? Then I’ll look as puffed-up as that brutish Blackwall.”

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes, and they continued to bicker good-naturedly as they ascended the stairs. There were serious issues to think about: the impending journey tomorrow, and Morrigan’s somewhat disturbing presence, and what exactly they would find when they finally arrived in the Western Approach. But for now, Fenris could take a moment to relax.

For now, Fenris could enjoy some time spent with a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to the Western Approach next week!
> 
> In the meantime, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you're in the mood to swing by. xo


	24. Disagree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehh, have some self-indulgent party banter. But also plot! And also Iron Bull. :)

“Nope,” Varric panted. “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh come on,” Hawke wheedled. “If you learned to ride, then you wouldn’t have to tromp through the desert like this.” She shot a pointed look at Varric’s feet, which he was dragging effortfully through the endless sand of the Western Approach.

He shook his head and continued to slog his way up the dune. “I’m not learning to ride one of those giant nugs, Hawke. There’s no way.”

“Why not?” she complained. “They’re the perfect mount for you! They look friendly, but they’re vicious as hell when you provoke them. Just like you.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Fenris frowned at her. “How would you know that the nuggalopes are vicious?”

She jerked a thumb at Blackwall. “He didn’t take enough sugar to the stables for all of them. Pickles knocked him down because she was jealous. Barely took her any effort.” 

Blackwall _harrumph_ ed. “Now hang on there. I wasn’t expecting the damned battle nug to–”

“‘Pickles’?” Varric interrupted incredulously. “Is that… You named the giant nugs?”

“Of course,” Hawke said in surprise. “Dennet said I could.”

Varric raised his eyebrows, then chuckled and shook his head. “Of course he did.” 

Hawke grinned and punched his shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”

Varric shot her a smirk. “That horsemaster is crotchety about the names of his horses. Then the Champion of Kirkwall walks into the stables, and he just lets you start naming the mounts?”

She widened her eyes and blinked. “I really don’t know what you mean.”

Fenris chuckled at her beguiling expression. “I suspect _that_ is the exact face you wore when you asked to name the giant nugs.” He pinched her waist. 

She squeaked with laughter and slapped his hand away. “All right, fine, there may have been some sweet-talking. But he was just going to give them boring alphabetical names! Albert, Bernard, Christopher… _blech_. I couldn’t let that stand.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “But your own mabari’s name is hardly original.” 

Carver sighed. “Oh, here we go…” 

Hawke gasped. “Have I never told you how Toby got his name?” 

“I don’t think so, no,” Fenris said in surprise.

Hawke clapped her hands. “Oh! Well, this was back in Lothering. I was in the yard doing some fool thing when I heard yelping in the woods across the stream. It sounded like a dog in pain, so I went to find out what the fuss was about, and what do I find but this precious mabari puppy–”

“He was already at least twenty pounds, Rynne,” Carver interjected. 

Hawke shot him a dirty look. “...this precious mabari puppy crying and trying to fend off a bunch of bees that were attacking him. It looked like he romped right into a bee’s nest. So I cleared off all the bees with a little magic and I healed all his stings, and Carver carried him home–” 

“Even though he was perfectly fine by that time,” Carver muttered. 

Hawke elbowed him. “And when we got home, that’s when I realized that I got stung too. Right on my big toe.” She looked up at Carver with a grin. “It was about the size of a grapefruit, right?”

He snorted. “More like a plum, but yes. It wasn’t pretty.”

“It was disgusting,” Hawke said with relish. “Father got the sting out and healed it up right away, but I thought it was funny.” She stopped talking and smiled at Fenris and the others. 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “So… wait. That’s… that’s the end of your story?”

“Yep,” Hawke said pertly. 

Blackwall scratched his beard. “I don’t understand.”

Carver sighed loudly. “Toby. _Toe-bee._ That’s the point of the stupid story.”

Blackwall’s eyebrows rose, and Varric snorted. “Seriously, Hawke?”

She shrugged and tucked her hands in her pockets. “It’s a real name, isn’t it? But only those who are clever enough to ask about it get to know the whole story.” She bumped her shoulder against Fenris’s and smiled fondly at him. 

“Lucky them,” Carver muttered. 

She linked her arm with her brother’s. “Hey now, don’t be like that. Toby loves you just as much as he loves me.” 

Carver grunted. “Oh, sure. That’s why he slept on _your_ bed almost every night.”

“Not true!” Hawke protested. “He only got to sleep on my bed for two months. Then I kicked him off for hogging the blankets.”

“Whatever. Your carpet, then,” Carver retorted. 

“It’s all right, Junior,” Varric said soothingly. “You still have time to get a pet. How about a fennec?”

Carver scowled. “A fennec?”

“That’s a great idea!” Hawke chirped. “I’d love a fennec in the family! They’re so cute. A perfect match for you, Carv.” She smiled winningly up at her brawny brother.

Varric snorted, and Carver’s scowl deepened, and Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide a smile. Then Solas spoke up. “I must admit, I am curious about the nuggalopes. They are a very… unusual breed. Where did they come from?” 

“Lady Josephine said they were a gift,” Blackwall said. “From some Orlesian noble, I think.”

Varric smirked. “Actually, I have it on good authority that they were meant to be a courting gift for Curly.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped in delight. “You’re kidding.” 

Solas smiled faintly. “Ah. That explains the Commander’s recent… mood.”

“Yep,” Varric said. “I heard him saying something to Josephine about ‘setting the damned beasts free in the mountains for all I care’.”

Hawke gasped. “He wouldn’t.”

“Not to worry,” Fenris said to her. “He can’t very well release them now that they have been named.”

She grinned at him. “Damned right.”

Fenris enjoyed her carefree smile for a moment. Then Blackwall addressed him. “Fenris, you don’t ride, do you?”

Fenris shook his head. “No. When would I have learned? Certainly not in Tevinter. Hence our travels being on foot.” He shot Blackwall a slightly apologetic look. “You’re free to ride ahead if you wish. You do not need to stay with us.” 

Blackwall hastily waved him off. “No, no, that’s not why I… well, I was thinking. If you wanted, I could teach you to ride. If you’re interested.”

Fenris was quiet as he considered the offer. In truth, he had been thinking that he should learn to ride, given the extensive travelling they did. But there was something about the idea of being on horseback that struck him as… presumptuous, somehow, or perhaps smug. 

The ability to ride horseback was common among humans; back in Tevinter, soporati warriors of affluent Tevinter houses and spoiled magisters’ sons were often seen on fine warhorses or even on dracolisks. In Ferelden, it was more noteworthy if one _didn’t_ know how to ride than if one did, and being able to ride was an obvious requirement for Orlesian Chevaliers. 

But Fenris was no human lord or chevalier. He couldn’t recall ever seeing an elf on horseback during his time in Tevinter. Here in the south, the situation was better, but not by much; he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a mounted elf, and they were always affluent merchants. It had never occurred to Fenris to learn how to ride until very recently – until he’d joined the Inquisition, in fact. But despite the obvious practicality of riding, something about the idea of acquiring this particular skill made him instinctively balk. 

He pensively nibbled the inside of his cheek, then bowed his head to Blackwall. “I appreciate the offer. I will… consider it.”

Blackwall nodded in return. “Anytime, Your Wor- er, Fenris. You let me know what you decide.” 

Fenris nodded again in thanks. Then Hawke sidled up to Blackwall and looped her hand through his elbow. “You know what be amazing? If griffons were still around. I could absolutely imagine you riding a griffon.”

Blackwall chuckled. “You flatter me, my lady.” 

“Not at all!” Hawke said warmly. “And who knows? They thought dragons were going extinct, and they’re doing quite well nowadays. A little too well, really. It’s always possible that griffons could make a comeback, too.” 

Blackwall smiled wistfully at her. Solas thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. “I have wondered about that myself,” he said. “The resurgence of dragons is a rather curious phenomenon. I must wonder if the instability of the Veil in certain areas has played a role.”

Hawke teasingly poked his shoulder. “Of course _you’ve_ wondered that. But you have a point; dragons are inherently magical creatures.”

“Precisely,” Solas said, with growing enthusiasm. “Imagine the implications if magic were playing a role in the breeding and growth patterns of the creatures of this world.”

Blackwall grimaced. “I don’t know, Solas. Dangerous creatures getting more dangerous? It sounds like trouble to me.” 

Solas widened his eyes. “But if we understood the process by which the impact of the Fade…” 

Fenris smiled faintly as Solas and Blackwall and Hawke continued their lively discussion of creatures and magic. Then he heard Varric’s quiet huff of amusement. 

Fenris looked down at him. “Is something amusing?” 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “We’re about to meet Stroud to find out what the Wardens have been getting up to. That’s some pretty ominous shit. You’re in a surprisingly good mood, all things considered.”

“I was going to say the same thing,” Carver added. “You’re being cheerful. It’s kind of weird. Not bad,” he said hastily when Fenris frowned. “Just, um, different.”

Fenris sighed. “I am… making an effort,” he admitted quietly. “Taking a page from Hawke’s book, as it were. My customary, er…”

“Brooding,” Varric supplied helpfully.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you insist.” He lowered his voice further. “I do not want to worry her more than I have already done. And the… ruminating is not particularly helpful to me. I am trying something different.” He had been mulling over the thoughts that Cole had plucked from Hawke’s head with her permission: the fears that haunted her mind, and the fact that Fenris’s laughter kept her fears at bay. If it cheered Hawke up to hear Fenris laughing, it was worth the attempt at levity.

Varric patted his elbow. “Just admit it, elf,” he said cheerfully. “You’re covered in newlywed dust, and it hasn’t worn off yet. We can probably expect His Broodiness back in, oh, another week or so.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And how do _you_ have such sage marital advice to share?” he drawled. “Do you have a wife stashed away somewhere that we don’t know about?”

Carver snickered, and Varric smiled indulgently. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“A cagey response, dwarf,” Fenris said. “I shall conclude that it is a secret mistress instead of a wife, then.”

Varric smiled enigmatically, and Fenris chuckled at his mysterious demeanour. 

Then Hawke turned around to face them. “Fenris,” she said. 

Her tone was businesslike. Fenris looked up, and his gaze instantly darted over her shoulder. A rift was twisting and warping in the air about fifty paces away, and there was a small group of demons seething in the sand below. 

He nodded sharply at her. With no further instructions, their party ran toward the rift. 

They’d all been working together for long enough by now that closing the average rift took little more than a few minutes of concentrated effort and combat. The demons here in the Western Approach were rather larger and more tenacious than in some of the other places they’d been, but Hawke and Solas strategically used their fire and ice attacks to weaken the largest demons for Carver, Blackwall and Varric’s swords and bolts. Carver’s Templar abilities came in handy, too; with a little push of concentration, he was able to stem the flow of demons from the rift while Fenris focused on closing it.

The rift disappeared into his palm with the usual _thwomp_ of pressure. Fenris idly shook out his hand, then pointed to the west. “There,” he said. About a kilometre away, he could see the characteristic jagged peaks of Tevinter architecture. 

“That is the meeting place that Stroud indicated,” he said. “The ancient Tevinter ritual site.”

Hawke nodded. Her face was very serious. “Let’s go find him, then,” she said. “It’s been far too long since I enjoyed the sight of that enormous mustache of his.”

Their little group quietly jogged toward the ritual site. When they were almost there, Fenris spotted a lone human figure standing in the shadows of an ancient crumbling dolmen. 

It was Stroud. The Grey Warden looked as stern as ever as he stepped forward to greet them. “Fenris, Hawke. Master Tethras, it is good to see you again.” A quick round of introductions was made for the others, then Stroud turned back to Fenris and Hawke with his usual worried frown. 

“I’m glad you made it,” he said. “I fear they’ve already started the ritual.”

“They have already started?” Fenris said sharply. “Blood magic is underway right now?”

Stroud nodded sadly. “I believe so.”

Fenris scowled. “Then there is no time to waste. Are there guards posted? Should we approach with stealth?”

“Or can we storm right in and break up their party?” Hawke asked. 

“We can approach directly, I believe,” Stroud said. “I have seen no guards in the surrounding area, and I have been observing for the past two days. Magic is certainly at play, but it seems to be a small force of Wardens; I have seen no more than a dozen people.” 

“Dozen bad guys? We can deal with that,” Varric said. “Especially with Broody and the Beefcake Twins on our side.” He jerked his thumb at Carver and Blackwall. 

Carver straightened up and nodded officiously at Fenris and Stroud. “Just tell us what to do,” he said. 

Fenris gave his instructions as they approached the ritual site. “We will watch and listen at first,” he said. “We must know their plans if we are going to stop them. Then, if there is blood magic going on…” He trailed off and scowled.

Hawke grimaced and didn’t speak, but Solas did. “I suspect it is too much to hope that the Grey Wardens’ plan is premised on facts rather than assumptions for once.”

Fenris frowned curiously. He’d heard Solas making pointed comments about the Grey Wardens even before this blood magic issue had arisen, but he didn’t fully understand Solas’s problem. 

They stepped onto the short paved bridge that led to the ritual site proper, and Blackwall frowned as well. “Solas, I’ve never understood your disregard for the Wardens. Don’t you think it’s a good cause to fight the Blight?”

“Certainly, if done correctly and with the proper forethought,” Solas said. 

Blackwall’s frown deepened further, and Hawke laughed lightly. “I love a good philosophical debate as much as the next person, but how about you boys pick up this friendly discussion a little later?” 

“Yeah, that would be good,” Varric said quietly. “Because I see trouble ahead.”

Fenris and the others all looked up, just in time to see one Grey Warden plunge a dagger into another Warden’s gut. 

There was a general outcry of dismay from the group. “Maker’s mercy,” Carver blurted. 

“Shit,” Hawke and Varric said together.

Fenris didn’t waste his breath. He took off at a run with the others close at his heels, but they were not fast enough. As they watched, a rage demon burst from a green fissure in the air, almost like a misbegotten calf being born from the glowing rift in the sky.

They reached the platform just in time to see a man in Tevinter clothing delivering instructions to the bloody-handed Warden mage. “Now bind it, just as I showed you,” the Tevinter man said. 

“Stop,” Fenris barked, but it was too late; the murderous Warden mage was already muttering and holding his hand toward the writhing demon. A moment later, the Warden and the demon both grew still. 

“Fuck. More demon-binding?” Hawke panted. 

“So it would seem,” Fenris snarled. He glared at the Warden mage as he and his demon pet fell in line with a handful of other mages and demons who were standing at attention on the platform. 

The Tevinter man looked up at them with an oily smile. “Inquisitor. It’s Fenris, isn’t it?” he said. His eyes lingered on Fenris’s chin and neck. “What an unexpected pleasure. I had heard tales of Danarius’s masterpiece back in Tevinter, before all of this. A shame he didn’t live to see how things ended up for you.”

Hawke took a threatening step forward. “How about you bite my–”

Fenris held up a hand to stop her and narrowed his eyes. This man might know of him, but Fenris had never seen him before. “Who are you?” he demanded. 

The Tevinter bowed with an elaborate flourish. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

“You are no Warden,” Stroud said accusingly.

“But _you_ are,” Erimond said. He gave Stroud a condescending look. “You’re the one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Shall we see how that goes?”

Hawke made a disgusted noise and turned to Varric. “Is it just me, or is this fellow the greasiest man you’ve ever seen?” she said loudly. “I feel like I’m going to break out in spots just from looking at him.”

Erimond’s smile slipped slightly. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly on the platform. “Your timing is exquisite. Now you can witness _my_ masterpieces at work.” He stopped pacing and faced the Wardens. “Wardens, hands up!”

In perfect unison, the Warden mages raised their hands, and Fenris watched in horror as they lowered their hands as well on Erimond’s command. 

Stroud was staring at his compatriots with equal dismay. “Corypheus has taken their minds,” he lamented. 

Erimond shot him another unpleasant smile. “They did this to themselves,” he said. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help. Even Tevinter.”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke complained. “Not this again.”

 _Indeed,_ Fenris thought waspishly. It was rather telling that yet another group of mages was so eager to offer themselves to Tevinter. But Erimond was talking still – not just talking, but sharing his entire plan, it seemed.

Erimond smugly folded his arms. “Since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” He shot Fenris an insincere smile. “I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan: raise a demon army, march into the deep roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake up.” 

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” Solas hissed. “These fools…” 

“Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught the mages has a side effect,” Erimond continued. “They’re now my master’s slaves. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the demon army will conquer Thedas, with the Wardens at their side.” 

Hawke folded her arms. She looked just as irate as Solas. “You fucking slimy, treacherous–”

“Kill the Old Gods?” Fenris interrupted. “For what purpose?”

Erimond continued to swagger around the platform, and Fenris got the distinct impression that he was enjoying his audience. “A Blight happens when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an archdemon,” he said. “If someone fought through the deep roads and killed the Old Gods before they could be corrupted…” He gestured ostentatiously with his hand. “ _Poof!_ No more Blights, ever. The Wardens sacrifice their lives and save the world.” He tilted his head in a mockingly thoughtful expression. “Though I fear history will remember them a little differently now.”

“That’s madness,” Solas burst out. “For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse.”

Hawke glanced at him in confusion, but Erimond’s reply was glib. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m taking this demon army off their hands.”

“And you think _you_ could control an entire army of demons?” Hawke said. Her voice was positively dripping with skepticism. “And what about the Blight? You and your Venatori friends would just say, ‘oh good, the Blight is continuing on. Let the darkspawn join the demon party, the more the merrier’?” 

Erimond scoffed. “The Elder One _commands_ the Blight. He is not commanded by it, like the mindless darkspawn.” He continued to pace officiously on the platform. “The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool.”

Hawke frowned at this, and Varric huffed. “Well, someone’s definitely a tool.”

Then Stroud spoke. “The Calling. That terrible song in every Warden’s mind. That was Corypheus’s influence?”

“Correct,” Erimond said. “Clever, wasn’t it? But we can’t take all the credit. Your very own colleagues made the choice to do all this.” He waved grandly at the dead Wardens scattered on the ground. “Everything you see here – the blood sacrifices to bind the demons: the Wardens did it of their own free will. Fear is a very good motivator, and they were very afraid.” 

Blackwall took an angry step forward. “That’s a lie,” he exclaimed. “The Grey Wardens are heroes. They would never do this willingly.”

Erimond raised an eyebrow. “The Grey Wardens care about nothing save stopping Blights,” he said. “They will do anything to accomplish that.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burdens of command, I suppose.”

“Good,” Fenris said. 

Everyone looked at him. Stroud and Blackwall frowned, and Erimond looked slightly surprised. “‘Good’?” he said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. He sneered at the magister. “You are so desperate for recognition that you told us everything. Now that your value has been tapped, I can tear your beating heart from your miserable corpse.” He clenched his fist and brought his lyrium marks to life. 

Erimond flung a glowing red hand in Fenris’s direction, and Fenris stumbled to his knees as his left hand was inexorably drawn toward Erimond’s magic. 

“Fenris!” Hawke cried out.

Fenris clenched his jaw. His left palm was glowing and vibrating viciously like it had when Corypheus had tried to take the anchor back, and Erimond was grinning more smugly than ever. 

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again,” Erimond said. “That mark you bear? The anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master.”

Fenris ignored him. He was not going to let the restless bubbling feeling in his hand get the better of him this time. He focused all his attention on his palm, drawing carefully from Erimond’s magic instead of trying to resist it. 

Erimond was still talking. “The Elder One has been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade. When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be–”

Fenris shoved himself to his feet and thrust his left hand in Erimond’s direction. A burst of pure rift magic flared from his palm in the magister’s direction, blasting the magister off of his feet and setting the demons to squalling. 

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke gasped. 

Fenris lowered his hand and glared at Erimond. The magister was unfortunately alive, but there was a satisfying look of fear on his face. 

“Kill them!” Erimond squawked at the Wardens. Then he started dragging himself away. 

Fenris snarled, but before he could move to pursue Erimond, the demons and Wardens were upon them. 

The fight was rushed but vicious; Fenris was furious about the blood magic and Erimond’s disgusting ploy for power, and he held nothing back as he lashed out at the demons and the enchanted Wardens alike with his lyrium scars and his sword. The others fought with equal ferocity, and by the time the skirmish was done, the platform was slick with blood and demon ichor.

Hawke racked her staff on her back and strode over to Fenris. “Are you all right? Is your hand all right?” she demanded.

He allowed her to stroked his left palm, which had returned to its usual faint glow. “I am fine,” he assured her. He turned to Stroud with a scowl. “So the mages of your Order has fallen to blood magic and demon-summoning.”

Stroud bowed his head sadly. “This is so. And through their actions, they have become slaves to Corypheus.”

“It must be the Warden warriors’s blood that’s powering all of this, then,” Hawke said. She grimaced. “I suppose it’s not real blood magic until someone gets sacrificed.”

Carver tutted loudly. “Are you really joking about this, Rynne?” he demanded. “Acts like this are why the Templars exist. It’s our duty to stop things like this from happening!” He frowned at Stroud. “Aren’t there any Templar-trained Wardens? Why isn’t that a thing?”

Stroud bowed slightly to Carver. “The Wardens were wrong, Ser Carver, but they had their reasons.”

“Blood mages always have their reasons, don’t they?” Carver retorted. He turned to Rynne. “Orsino probably told you that he had good reasons, even though he kept telling Meredith that he was anti-blood magic all along.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Carv, let’s not talk about Orsino or Meredith right now, all right? We just had lunch. Thinking about them makes me want to vomit.” 

“Carver is right,” Fenris said. “Fear and ignorance are no excuse. There is never a sufficient excuse for this kind of abhorrent blood magic. And _don’t_ bring up what you had to do in Corypheus’s prison,” he said sharply to Hawke when she opened her mouth. “It was not the same.”

She held up her hands in protest. “I wasn’t going to! I was just going to ask what we’re doing next. Clearly the Wardens need help, right? Corypheus is manipulating them, so we should help set them free.”

There was a general uproar at this. Stroud and Blackwall nodded, and Carver threw up his hands in frustration while Solas folded his arms and scowled. Varric grimaced and tugged one of his earrings, and Fenris took a step closer to her. 

“The Wardens do not need to be _helped_ ,” he said. “They need to be stopped.”

Hawke lifted her chin. “They’re being held as slaves to Corypheus’s will. It’s like Redcliffe Village all over again. Haven’t you noticed how it’s always the mages who are being targeted for his bullshit?”

Fenris curled his lip and waved angrily at the bloodied platform. “That is because the mages are–” He stopped and clamped his lips together before saying something he would regret. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Yes?” she said archly. “Please, go on. Don’t mince your words for my sake.”

Fenris shook his head and looked away. He was not going to have this fight with her, especially when she wasn’t the one fault. 

Carver, however, didn’t have Fenris’s self-restraint. “The mages are weak,” he said bluntly. “They’re naturally susceptible to this kind of mind control. That’s why Corypheus keeps going after them.”

“Ah, shit,” Varric muttered. 

Hawke burst out a bitter-sounding laugh. “Are you fucking serious?” she said. “Is that what you think of me, then? That I’m some weak and feeble-minded sitting duck just waiting to be taken over by Corypheus?”

“Maker’s bloody mercy, Rynne, everything is not always about you,” Carver yelled. 

Hawke took a deep breath, and Stroud stepped forward. “Forgive me, Hawke, if I may…” He looked at Fenris. “I believe I know where the Wardens have gone. Erimond fled in that direction.” He pointed toward the west. “There’s an abandoned Warden fortress that way called Adamant. I will scout the fortress and confirm whether the other Wardens are there.”

Fenris nodded. “We will make camp near here. Find us when you have confirmed their presence.”

Stroud nodded sharply, then bowed slightly to Hawke. “Your understanding is undeserved, Hawke, but I am grateful all the same.”

She squeezed Stroud’s arm. “Don’t get me wrong, Stroud, your mages made a big mistake. But, well… everyone makes mistakes.” She quickly kissed his cheek. “Stay safe, all right? I’d hate if something bad happened to that mustache of yours.”

“I shall,” he said. He bowed to them and strode away.

Carver glared at Hawke. “‘Everyone makes mistakes’? That’s your takeaway from all this?” 

Fenris also gazed at her in frustration. “Do you really see something redeemable in this?” He gestured roughly at the corpses littering the platform. “This is equitable to the monstrosities that Orsino committed!” 

Hawke sighed and shrugged. She seemed exhausted now. “I just… Look, the blood magic part is disgusting. And horrible. And yes, it’s as bad as Orsino.” She shifted her weight to one hip and tapped her chin. “Although Orsino’s whole monster-slug-creature-thing was by far the most hideous–”

“Hawke,” Fenris complained. 

She tutted. “All right, all right. It’s bad, okay? I know it’s bad. But the slave part – the mages being Corypheus’s slaves…” She looked pleadingly at Fenris. “That is exactly like what happened to Fiona’s people. Corypheus manipulated the situation to make them vulnerable and scared, then he swooped in and forced them into slavery! They didn’t know–”

“The Warden mages chose blood magic,” he hissed. “They knew enough to make that evil choice.” 

To Fenris’s surprise, Solas backed him up. “They knew enough to bind their demons, yet not enough to know whether their plan would work,” he said angrily to Hawke. “Seeking to end the Old Gods deliberately in some bizarre attempt to preempt the Blight?”

Hawke recoiled slightly. “ _That’s_ what you’re objecting to?”

“Yes,” Solas snapped. “Would it have worked? Do you know? Did they? The fools who first unleashed the Blight upon this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power. To seek the Old Gods again…” He shook his head. “Responsibility is not expertise. Action is not inherently superior to inaction.” 

Hawke was eyeing him cautiously now. “All right,” she said slowly. “But… you do think _we_ should act, right?”

“Of course,” Solas said. “We must stop the Wardens from carrying out this insane plan.”

Carver gestured at Solas emphatically. “Thank you. A voice of reason.”

“I agree,” Fenris said. 

“Well, so do I, obviously!” Hawke exclaimed. “I’m not condoning the blood magic bullshit. We obviously have to stop them. I’m just…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I’m thinking about after, I guess. If we save the Wardens from Corytits, maybe they could join the Inquisition.” She looked at Blackwall. “Do you think they would?”

Fenris scowled at her. He was strongly opposed to the idea of blood mages joining their ranks. 

Blackwall shrugged sadly. “I’m not certain, my lady. The Wardens have their duties–” 

Solas laughed nastily. “Duty. Mindless, unthinking duty, perhaps, but duty nonetheless.”

Hawke shot him a wide-eyed look. “Maker’s balls, Solas, keep it in your pants.” 

Solas glared at her, but Blackwall sighed. “I… I like to think they would help our cause. But this…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe what they’re doing. I thought I understood the Order.” 

He sounded oddly defeated. Hawke frowned slightly and squeezed his armoured arm, then turned to Fenris. “You know what? I don’t know why everyone cares what I think, anyway. What we do next is up to you.” 

Everyone turned to look at Fenris, and for once, he was glad that the decision was his to make. “Our focus is on stopping the Wardens,” he announced. “We will thwart their plans, even if it means their deaths. And we will worry about delivering the consequences later.”

He eyed Hawke as he spoke. She was frowning, but once Fenris had delivered his verdict, she simply nodded her head. 

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Let us find a place to make camp,” he said. “With any luck, Stroud’s reconnaissance will not take too long.”

They left the blood- and ichor-stained platform and made their way back to the desert, then headed southwest in the direction that Leliana’s scouts had marked as a good place to camp. Blackwall was quiet and pensive as trudged across the dunes, and Hawke sidled up to Solas and fell into a quiet but heated discussion with him.

Carver and Varric fell into step beside Fenris. “Thanks, Fenris,” Carver said. 

“For what?” Fenris said.

“For… uh, being reasonable, I suppose,” he said. 

Varric chuckled. “He means for not taking Hawke’s side.”

Carver frowned at Varric. “Shut up,” he muttered. 

Fenris gave Carver a flat look. “I do not mindlessly do everything your sister says, you know,” he said. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“I know,” Carver said hurriedly. “I didn’t say you can’t.” He shot Varric another resentful look, and they walked in silence for some time. 

Then Carver spoke again. “Why did you follow her in Kirkwall, then? I know you disagreed with almost everything she did.”

“The same reason that she follows me now, despite disagreeing with my choice,” Fenris said. 

Carver frowned slightly, and Fenris gave him a frank look. “It is possible to disagree with someone and still respect them,” he said. He glanced at Hawke’s back. She was talking with Solas still, and from what Fenris could hear, their conversation sounded quite calm and measured now. 

He looked at Carver once more. “It is possible to disagree with someone and still love them. It is even possible to disagree with someone and still be kind to them, difficult though it may be,” he said quietly. “It took years for me to learn this. Too many years. Do not make the same mistakes as me.”

Carver dropped his gaze without replying, and Fenris looked away to watch Hawke’s swaying hips once more. After a moment of somewhat awkward silence, Carver spoke again. 

“I do love my sister,” he said. “You know that, right? I don’t hate her. She just… drives me nuts sometimes. Most of the time. I mean – argh…” He ran a hand through his hair.

“I know you do,” Fenris said calmly. “Whether Rynne knows, however…” He shrugged.

Carver nibbled the inside of his cheek in silence. Then he shrugged awkwardly and drifted away. 

Varric looked up at Fenris. “So,” he said casually. “That magic-blasty thing you did was a neat trick.” He nodded at Fenris’s left palm. ”How long have you been able to do that?”

Fenris glanced at his hand, then closed his fist. “I have only done it once before, after Corypheus attacked Haven. He… did something to my hand, or tried to. And shortly after, I… expelled magic from this cursed mark.” He shrugged. “I have not attempted to do it since.”

“Mm,” Varric acknowledged. “More weird shit to deal with, I guess.”

Fenris huffed. “You are correct about that.” He sighed. “I suppose I will have to ask Solas about it.”

Varric chuckled softly. “No need to sound so thrilled.”

Fenris shrugged again. He hadn’t told anyone except Hawke about his origins as a mage, or that Solas had been the one to reveal his ignominious background to him. Varric probably thought he was being rather churlish, but there was nothing to be done about that. 

He smirked at Varric to hide his unease. “Truthfully? I would prefer to battle a dragon than to enter into another magical discussion with Solas. It would be far less tiring.”

Varric laughed again. “Poor Chuckles. He has a way with words, that’s for sure.” He tapped his chin. “He does have some interesting stories, though. I should collaborate with him on something.”

Fenris snorted. “I beg you, don’t. It would be even less successful than _Swords and Shields_.”

Varric scoffed. “Ouch. That hurts. And you wonder why I prefer hanging out with Hawke over you.”

Fenris smirked more widely. “I don’t wonder. I know why. You prefer sycophants over sincerity.”

Varric chuckled. Then Hawke glanced over her shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “I heard that.” She fell back beside them with a smile. “I’m no sycophant, all right? I just know genius when I see it.” She bumped Varric playfully with her hip.

Varric patted her elbow. “I’m glad I have you, Hawke. At least someone appreciates me.” 

Fenris shook his head mock-ruefully. “I was unaware that the definition of ‘genius’ had become so relaxed. But if you insist…”

Varric snickered, and Hawke laughed brightly, and Fenris admired her genuine smile. There was nothing amusing about the situation they were in, and Fenris suspected things would steadily get worse over the following few days. But for now, he would allow himself to enjoy the sparkling joy of her laughter.

************************

Later that night, Cassandra and the rest of the group joined them at their camp, and they exchanged news and decided on their courses of action. Cassandra and Blackwall would take the bulk of their crew and clear the northern end of the Approach, including an ancient Grey Warden fortress called the Griffon’s Keep. Meanwhile, Fenris and Hawke and a few of the others would remain in the southern end to await Stroud’s news and to eradicate any foes that lingered nearby.

Fenris and his companions spent the following days eradicating the various bandits and Venatori in the area. Many of the bandits were harbouring crates of research equipment, and it wasn’t long before they discovered who the equipment was intended for: a very enthusiastic draconologist named Frederic who seemed to require a great many things to progress with his research, and whom Hawke – predictably – was unable to refuse. She claimed that Frederic’s numerous requests were ‘a fantastic lark’, and Fenris and Varric watched with fond exasperation as she and a surprisingly enthusiastic Bull ran around the nearby area searching for dragon signs and hunting creatures for Frederic’s dragon bait. 

Two days after the incident with Erimond, Stroud showed up at their camp carrying very dire news: Wardens from all over Orlais were flooding toward Adamant Fortress. He spent a full hour debriefing them, sharing everything from his estimates of numbers to the layout of the fortress, and by the time his report was complete, Fenris knew what had to be done: a full siege on Adamant Fortress, supported by the might of the Inquisition’s army. 

He immediately had ravens sent to Skyhold to advise the advisors of the situation. Then it was just a matter of waiting until the army showed up. 

It would be approximately ten days before Cullen and the army arrived at the Western Approach. Thankfully – or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it – there was much to be done in the intervening time. Darkspawn were emerging from somewhere in the northeast end of the Approach, and Blackwall was only too pleased to investigate the issue with Cole, Sera, and a (mildly complaining) Dorian at his side. Fenris, Hawke, Bull and Solas investigated an old Tevinter ruin containing some rather nasty time-stopping magic while Cassandra, Varric and Carver managed matters at the Griffon’s Keep, and all of them killed more bandits and raiders than they could count on two hands. 

Notably, they took down their first high dragon since joining the Inquisition. Frederic’s bait recipe was effective, and when Fenris, Hawke, Varric and Bull returned to the draconologist with news of the dragon’s death, Fenris couldn’t decide if Frederic or Bull was more delighted with the day’s events. 

Later that night as they sat around the campfire, Bull made his excitement clear by offering them all a large bottle from his travel pack. “Drinks!” he announced. “Come on, let’s see your cups. We’ve all earned a little _maraas-lok_ today.”

Fenris allowed Bull to pour a generous measure of pungent liquor into his tin camping cup. “This is a mistake,” he said. He had never had maraas-lok, but he’d heard qunari speaking of it during his time in Seheron, and never exactly in a favourable way. 

“Why?” Hawke asked. “What’s maraas-lok?” She sniffed from her cup, then instantly recoiled. “Woah. It smells like–”

“Axle grease and molasses,” Varric drawled. “That’s what it smells like.”

Bull poured a cup for himself and plopped down on the log beside Fenris. “Ah, be brave. Take a risk. Drink!” He raised his cup. “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” he proclaimed, then gulped the contents of his cup in three big swallows. 

Fenris shook his head wryly, then lifted his cup. “ _Benefaris,_ ” he said, and he only hesitated for a moment before gulping the liquor down. 

Fenris, Varric, and Hawke all burst out coughing after swallowing, and Bull chortled heartily at their collective reactions. “I know, right?” he drawled. “Put some chest on your chest.” He leaned over and poured more liquor into their cups without asking. “That little gurgle right before it breathed lightning at us? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that.” He smiled wistfully up at the star-sprinkled sky. “The way the ground shook when it landed, and the smell of the rocks burning… _taarsidath an-halsam_.” He sighed happily, then gulped down his second drink.

“What’s that mean?” Hawke asked. “ _Taarsi…_ thing. You said it during the fight, too. Is it a victory call or something?”

“Oh, _taarsidaath an-halsam_?” Bull said. He smirked and jerked a thumb at Fenris. “Maybe your man here can tell you, since he knows my language.”

“I don’t know that phrase, in fact,” Fenris said mildly. Bull’s tone was as jovial as ever, but Fenris got the impression that Bull was trying to suss him out. 

“No, huh?” Bull said. He turned to Hawke, who was lifting her cup to her lips. “Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’.

She choked on her drink and instantly started spluttering, and Varric chuckled and patted her back. Once she caught her breath, she beamed at Bull. “That’s incredible. I absolutely adore it,” she announced. “I’m going to start saying it too.” 

“Please don’t,” Fenris drawled.

Bull laughed. “A woman after my own heart.” He poured more liquor for her, then jerked his chin at Fenris’s cup. “Drink up, boss. There’s more where that came from.” He bolted down his third drink.

Fenris reluctantly took another sip of his pungent drink, and Bull smiled at them all. “You know the qunari hold dragons sacred? Well, as much as we hold anything sacred. “ _Atashi_ : ‘the glorious ones’. That’s our word for them.” He sighed happily and closed his eyes. “ _Ataaaaashiiiii_.”

Hawke chuckled fuzzily. “ _Atashi._ What a cute word.”

Bull snorted. “Not cute, Hawke. _Fierce._ Powerful. But you’re right: it is fun to say.” He and Hawke snickered together. 

Fenris shrewdly studied him. As partial as Bull was to his booze, Fenris had never really seen him drunk before. Perhaps there was a reason Bull was getting openly drunk now.

Varric leaned his elbows on his knees. “Dragons are sacred to you guys, huh? Is it the horns?” 

“Maybe,” Bull said. “We kinda look more dragon-y than most people. But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory.” He leaned forward on his elbows as well. “See, the tamassrans control who we breed with. They breed us for jobs like you breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon blood a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic…? I don’t know.” He shrugged and leaned back. “But something in that dragon we killed… _spoke_ to me.” He poured a fourth measure of maraas-lok for himself, then drank it down. 

Hawke held out her cup for more. “So does that mean we killed a qunari god or something?”

“Nah,” Bull reassured her. “One of Tevinter’s gods, maybe. They worshipped dragons, right? The Vint pretty-boy is more likely to be offended than me.” He chuckled, but his expression grew slightly serious as he rolled his cup between his enormous palms. 

“Dragons are the embodiment of raw power,” he said. “But it’s all uncontrolled, savage. So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild, order out of chaos… here, boss, have another drink.” He poured more maraas-lok into Fenris’s half-full cup. 

Fenris nodded his thanks and took a tiny sip, then lowered his cup and looked up at Bull. “Did you encounter many dragons during your time in Seheron?”

Bull glanced at him – the briefest sideways glance – then swallowed another mouthful of maraas-lok before replying. “Nah,” he said casually. “Good thing, too. More than enough savagery there without dragons in the mix.”

“Savagery from all sides, yes,” Fenris said. He turned his eyes to the fire. “Your people fighting Tevinters, Tevinters fighting the Tal-Vashoth, Tal-Vashoth fighting you…”

“And the fog warriors,” Bull put in. “Don’t forget your contribution. Sneaky bastards, you were.”

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement. “I could never forget,” he said quietly. 

Hawke and Varric were silent, and Fenris glanced at them. Hawke was leaning against Varric’s shoulder – likely for support, given how much maraas-lok she’d had – but they were both watching him and Bull with wide eyes. 

He took another sip from his cup and glanced up at the qunari. “Bull, when did you arrive in Seheron?”

Bull rumbled a low laugh. “Just cutting straight to the quick, eh boss? I like that about you.” He rested his palms on his knees. “I was in Seheron for years. Was first stationed there in 9:23. Stayed until 9:31.” 

“Ah,” Fenris said. “We were there at the same time, then.”

Bull huffed and scratched his chin. “We were, huh? When were you there?” 

“In 9:28,” Fenris said. “A mere few months, but… it was enough.”

Bull chuckled. “You can say that again.” He gave Fenris an appraising look. “I don’t remember you. Not that I remember every guy I fight, but I feel like I’d have remembered you if we scrapped.”

Fenris smiled faintly. “If you do not remember me, that means I was successful.” 

Bull chortled again and shook his horned head. “ _Vashedan._ I guess you’re right.” He poured himself another drink and shot Fenris a sideways glance. “You only stayed a few months, eh? Damned lucky that you got out so soon. Seheron was an ugly place.”

Fenris exhaled slowly, then took a slightly larger sip from his cup. “I would have stayed,” he said. “But… circumstances required that I leave.” 

“Stayed longer?” Bull said in surprise. “What the hell for?”

Fenris shrugged and stared into his cup. “I was happy there. For the first time that I could remember, I was… happy. But my former master came, and…” He trailed off, then looked up and met Hawke’s eyes. 

Her face was serious and her eyes were soft. She smiled at him, and Fenris took comfort from the flickering of the flames in her copper eyes. 

He looked up at Bull. “Danarius commanded me to kill the fog warriors who sheltered me, so I did.”

Bull raised his eyebrows slightly, and Fenris answered his unasked question. “I believed I had no choice. Once the deed was done, however…” He exhaled slowly. “That was the moment I knew I could no longer be Danarius’s mindless thrall.” He looked at the fire once more. “I left Seheron that same night. I headed south, to Kirkwall. The rest is history, as they say.” He smiled faintly at Hawke, who was smiling at him in turn.

“Hm. Seheron is good for that, it seems,” Bull said thoughtfully. “Life-changing epiphanies.” He gulped from his cup again. 

Fenris nodded. “That seems so, yes, if that is where you were when you asked to be reassigned.” 

Bull huffed a little laugh. “I didn’t ask for a reassignment. I asked to be re-educated.”

Fenris froze, then stared up at him incredulously. “You were willingly re-educated?”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke blurted. “Seriously? You never mentioned that, Bull.”

Bull shrugged casually. “You didn’t ask.” He looked Fenris once more. “One day I woke up and couldn’t think of a damned reason to keep doing my job. Turned myself in to the re-educators.”

“But… but the re-educators sound awful,” Hawke protested. “You told me they torture people. Potions, sleep deprivation, brainwashing and all that…”

“Yep,” Bull said. “And it did the trick. They fixed me up and sent me to Orlais, ostensibly as a Tal-Vashoth, to work undercover. And the rest, as they say, is history.” He smirked at Fenris and poured a little more maraas-lok into his cup, then took a hearty gulp straight from the bottle.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You do not seem re-educated.”

Bull lowered the bottle and chuckled. “You’ve met many re-educated qunari to compare me to, then?”

“I will rephrase that,” Fenris said. “You do not seem very qunari.”

Bull smiled. “Heh. And you’d know this from a few months’ observation in Seheron?”

“And in Kirkwall,” Hawke put in. “The qunari lived in Kirkwall for years. We visited their compound a bunch of times.” She elbowed Varric. “I still think the Arishok had a thing for Fenris. _And_ for me. But more for Fenris.”

Varric patted her hand indulgently. “Sure, Hawke, whatever you say.”

Fenris ignored their banter. “A few months of covert observation is not insignificant,” he said to Bull. “You seem…” He trailed off as he tried to formulate his thoughts; the maraas-lok seemed to be catching up to him, although he hadn’t had much. 

“You seem like… like a person, Bull,” he finally said. “And I would not say that was a bad thing.”

Bull chuckled. “Ah, think what you like. But I know what I am. I’m a tool of destruction.” He rose to his feet and planted his hands on his waist. “I’ll prove it to you. Show me something to break – anything, rock or tree or whatever, and I’ll destroy it.”

Fenris studied him in silence. He saw this diversion for exactly what it was: a convenient change of subject, and an attempt to deflect. But if Bull no longer wished to speak of this, Fenris wasn’t going to press him.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need to see it. I believe it.” 

“So do I, but I’ll still play,” Hawke chirped. She hopped up from her log, then stumbled slightly. 

Fenris hastily rose and grabbed her waist for support. “Careful, Hawke,” he said gently. 

“Thanks, handsome,” she slurred. “But I want to see Bull breaking things.” She pointed at a nearby boulder that was twice Bull’s size. “How about that?”

Bull laughed loudly. “All right, you got me. Something a tiny bit smaller, maybe.” He picked up his enormous war hammer. “Come on, Hawke. Lemme show you how gravel is made.” He wandered away and started swinging his hammer experimentally.

Fenris waited until he was out of earshot, then raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “You really want to do this?” he murmured.

She patted his cheek clumsily. “Sure I do,” she said. “Besides, he needs it. Break some stuff, easy way to feel better. For some people, at least.”

Fenris blinked at her drunken thoughtfulness, then carefully released her arm. “All right,” he said. 

She winked at him, then tottered over to Bull’s side and plopped down in the sand. Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation and sat beside Varric, and they watched for a while as Hawke pointed to various rocks and bricks and dead logs for Bull to break. 

“I didn’t see that coming,” Varric said quietly. “The re-education thing.”

“Nor did I,” Fenris said. “It still strikes me as strange.” Bull was probably the most dichotomous person Fenris knew. If not for his horns and his height, it would be easy to forget much of the time that Bull was qunari at all. But the things he would say sometimes – things like ‘taming the wild’ and ‘order out of chaos’... 

It wasn’t a sentiment Fenris disagreed with. Unfettered power and unfettered rage were dangerous if improperly controlled. But when Bull said it, it seemed out of character, somehow — not like he disbelieved his own words, but like there was something more to them than just the teachings of the Qun. 

Fenris tapped his knees thoughtfully. He got the sense that he and Bull were not so different: they’d both seen monstrosities in Seheron, and the things they’d seen – and in Fenris’s case, things he had done – had changed both of their lives. But while Fenris’s experience had forced him to break free, it seemed that the hardships had only reconfirmed Bull’s conformity to the Qun. 

He watched Bull joking around with Hawke. Bull’s laughter was easy and warm, and very unlike any qunari Fenris had ever known. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. It seemed there was a piece of Bull’s past that was still missing from the puzzle. Perhaps Leliana should assign someone to find out what it was. Bull was a Ben-Hassrath agent, after all, and knowing more about him wouldn’t go amiss. Bull probably wouldn’t even mind being spied on, given his openness about his own status as a spy.

Fenris mulled the issue over for a while, then shrugged to himself. He would discuss it with Leliana when they returned to Skyhold. For now, there was no harm done in continuing their daily tasks as they had done so far.

Fenris just hoped that Bull’s behaviour would continue to be benign. If not…

His eyes drifted to Hawke, who was laughing uproariously at something Bull had said. If Bull showed any signs of becoming a danger, then Fenris would be the first in line to put him down.

***********************

“Inquisitor?”

Fenris cracked open his eyes. The inside of the tent was bathed in warm orange light as the morning sun bled through the canvas, and the scout’s voice was calling to him from just outside the tent flap. 

He cleared his throat and sat up on one elbow. “What is it?”

“A letter from Cullen, Your Worship,” the scout replied. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought you should see…”

Fenris pushed himself upright, fully awakened by the news. “Thank you,” he said. “I will be right out.”

“Ser,” the scout said. Then her sand-muffled footsteps moved away. 

Hawke groaned as Fenris slipped out of the bedroll. “Balls,” she whimpered. “My head. I’m never drinking that fucking maraas-lok again.”

Fenris dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “I will bring you some elfroot,” he murmured. He hastily hauled on some clothes and crawled out of the tent. 

The scout saluted him and handed him the letter, and Fenris read it as quickly as he could. By the time he’d finished it, Hawke was poking her dark-haired head out of the tent. 

She squinted painfully at the bright morning sun and shielded her eyes as she crawled out to join him. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Fenris said. He held the letter out to her. “Cullen and the army are due to arrive tonight at the Griffon’s Keep. They say the trebuchets from Jader will be in place by morning.”

Hawke took the letter and met his gaze with wide eyes. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He studied her expression; it was serious and worried.

She wasn’t wrong; the arrival of the army _was_ a good thing. The sooner they moved on the Wardens, the better. But a battle was still a battle, and a siege attack always represented a huge risk for the offensive force. Given how well-defended Adamant Fortress was, the people of the Inquisition were likely to suffer a high casualty rate. 

Hawke stroked his arm. “We’d better head to the Griffon’s Keep so we can meet them, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We should get moving as soon as we can, so we can rest well tonight.” He inhaled deeply and looked to the northwest. “Tomorrow, we will be marching on Adamant Fortress.”

“Together,” Hawke said firmly. 

Her fingers were tight on his arm. He gently brushed a tuft of unruly dark hair from her eyes. “Always,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’ve got one more eensy-weensy interlude chapter to come out this weekend, and then Adamant Fortress! 
> 
> The Adamant Fortress chapter may take me longer than normal to pull together. SO MUCH STUFF HAPPENS. Thank you all in advance for your patience, your kudos and comments if you’d like to leave them, and for being here on this long, _long_ ride. ^_^
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you wish to come scream Fenris at me. xoxo


	25. Interlude: The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another optional chapter of smut and feelings. Read at your own risk. xo

Fenris trudged up the stairs to the upper level of the Griffon’s Keep. He made his way toward the secluded alcove where Rylen had set up a small tent for him and Hawke, and he managed a small smile and a nod for every soldier who greeted him. 

By the time he reached the tent, however, he was more than ready to let the smile drop from his face. He sighed and removed his armour, carefully brushing the sand from every joint before arranging it neatly on a nearby table, then crawled into the tent. 

Two bedrolls were already laid out side-by-side, along with a small alchemical lamp. Fenris made a mental note to thank Rylen in the morning, then set about rearranging the bedrolls, laying one out like a pallet and the other like a blanket so he and Hawke could share their bedding and their body heat as they usually did. 

He sat heavily on the bedrolls, then closed his eyes and simply breathed. The clank of weapons being cleaned and ladles in cooking pots competed with the lively chatter of soldiers joshing around, and Fenris simply listened for a moment.

The sounds weren’t unusual; weapon maintenance and cooking and conversation were common at any military camp. But the mood tonight was different. It was charged somehow, a few shades too energetic to be called truly relaxed – like dancing on the fine line of excitement and anxiety. 

They were marching on Adamant Fortress tomorrow. That was the difference. The Inquisition’s soldiers were a mixture of experienced and new, and when Fenris was walking down among the troops who were camped outside the keep, he’d heard the experienced soldiers pepping up their greener counterparts, reassuring them and passing on advice. He’d seen soldiers praying together, singing lewd songs and making lewd jokes and generally fostering a cheerful atmosphere – as cheerful as could be expected, knowing the risks that would come tomorrow. 

It was those risks that weighed on Fenris’s mind now as he sat alone in the tent. He’d shoved those risks to the back of his mind as he wandered through the army camp at Hawke’s side, but there was a writhing worry in his gut that wouldn’t abate.

People would die. There was no getting around that. Every pair of eyes he’d met and every smile he’d returned was a face that he might see tomorrow lying lifeless on the ground. 

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The irony of the situation was this: Fenris was the leader of the Inquisition. He was the one man who was supposedly in charge of everyone here. But he had never been part of a major organized battle like this before. 

Oh, he’d fought in countless battles, certainly; gang fights and scraps galore, and more skirmishes than he could ever possibly remember. But the only major military battle he’d been involved in was the Kirkwall Rebellion, and that battle had been sudden and unexpected. 

There had been no preparation time for the battle in Kirkwall. None of them had known that that fight was going to happen until suddenly it was upon them. And aside from that short and torturous period of time when they’d been cloistered in the Gallows with the mages, waiting for the Templars to attack, there had been little to no time for Fenris to ruminate about what could happen. 

The current situation was completely different. The assault on Adamant Fortress was as meticulously planned as possible, thanks to Cullen’s impeccable command. And that meant that Fenris had time to think about what could happen tomorrow – far too much time. 

Maybe it was a mistake to escape the noise and activity of the army camp to be alone. 

“Fenris?”

He looked up as Hawke poked her head through the tent flap. She smiled at him. “Hey there,” she said softly. “I’m just going to take off my kit and my boots. I think there’s enough sand in them to build a replica of this keep.”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hopefully not a replica that is to scale,” he joked.

Her laughter floated through the tent flap. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said. A couple of minutes later, she slipped into the tent wearing just her trousers and her cotton undershirt.

She sat beside him. “You did well down there,” she said. “Being the wise and encouraging leader. I think it really cheered them up to see you walking around. You know, because you’re so handsome.” She batted her eyelashes. 

He smirked. “I beg to disagree. I believe _your_ beauty is to thank for their boosted morale.”

She laughed. “You smooth talker,” she said happily. She stretched out on her side and propped her cheek on her fist, then coyly patted the bedroll beside her. 

Fenris lay on his back beside her, and she shifted closer and slung one leg over his. “How are you holding up?” she asked. 

He folded one arm behind his head. “Fine,” he said. He snuck his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and idly stroked the curve of her hip. 

She shot him a chiding look. “Fenris. Come on. You can talk to me.” 

“About what?” he said. 

“About tomorrow,” Hawke said. “You know, this whole huge siege situation we’re going into. I hope it won’t take too long for Cullen’s people to get us through the gates and into the fortress proper. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to crash the blood magic party. ‘Hey demons, better run for your lives – oh wait, most of you haven’t got legs.’” She laughed softly and rubbed the collar of his shirt between her fingers.

She was nervous. It was obvious in her smile and her downcast eyes. This was exactly what Fenris had been trying to ward off. 

He smoothed his palm along her back and dredged up a smile. “You’ll have to save the largest pride demons for me. I’ll remove their legs so they cannot run from you.” 

She grinned at him briefly, then tilted her head. “You’re humouring me.”

“I am always humouring you,” Fenris said. “You are fairly ridiculous most of the time.” 

She laughed again, then pinched his earlobe. “I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t have to put on a show for me. Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Are you?” he said.

She shot him another chiding glance at his obvious deflection, then sighed and rested her chin on his chest. “Of course. This is a weird situation. The waiting before the battle…” She grimaced. “I don’t like it. I’d rather go flying in by the seat of my pants than sit around waiting like this. Or, you know, not get involved in any battle at all. Alas, we can’t always get what we want.” 

“I agree,” Fenris said quietly. 

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “You do?”

Fenris nodded. “I am unaccustomed to this kind of waiting. I find it unnerving as well.” 

She sat up on her elbows. “Have you never been in a big planned battle before, then?”

He shook his head. “Such waiting is the purview of a soldier, and I have never been that. I trained in combat, but only for Danarius’s protection. And then in a different way with the fog warriors, of course. But even then, the fog warriors are stealth attackers,” he explained. “We knew who we were going to hit and when, but the hits happened swiftly. The goal was always to take lives quickly and leave none behind, and the vast majority of the time, we were successful.” 

Hawke nodded slowly. “That’s… very different than tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Fenris said quietly. “Tomorrow…” He hesitated, then sighed. “Many people will die tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Hawke murmured. “Kind of feels like right before the Templars attacked us in the Gallows, doesn’t it?”

He looked at her. That was exactly what he’d been thinking. 

She was smiling still, but beneath the lovely mask of her smile, her true feelings were evident in the tilt of her eyebrows: she was scared. 

He swallowed hard as his own suppressed fear rose in his belly. “We’ll be all right, Hawke,” he told her quietly. “I will protect you.” 

She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “ _I’ll_ protect _you_ , remember. I’ve been practicing at casting barriers one right after the other for if we’re separated – one for me, one for you.” She frowned fiercely at him. “You have to let me protect you tomorrow.”

He clenched his jaw against the instinctive refusal that was clamouring at the back of his tongue. Her frown deepened, and finally he sighed. 

“All right,” he grunted, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit. “But _you_ must remember to keep a defensive role. Stay back from the worst of the danger. None of your usual bursting into the thick of the battle. Promise me.”

She inhaled, then blew out a gusty breath and nodded. “All right, I promise,” she said. 

They gazed at each other in silence for a long and loaded moment. Then Hawke nervously licked her lips. “Fenris, I’m… I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

A nearly-painful surge of tenderness closed his throat for a moment. He carefully breathed through it and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “There is nothing that will tear me from your side. You know that.”

She lowered her eyes and didn’t reply, and Fenris gently tilted her chin up until she was forced to meet his gaze. “I will fell anyone or anything that tries to stand between us, Hawke,” he murmured. “That is my promise to you.”

She swallowed hard, then smiled. “I like that plan,” she said. “So full of good murderous plans, you are. That’s why you’re the Inquisitor.” 

He scoffed softly as Hawke shifted higher on his body. “I hope that is not why. It’s a poor criterion for choosing a leader.”

She smiled and brushed his nose with hers. “It’s good enough for me,” she whispered, and she kissed him.

He parted his lips for her, and her tongue brushed against his in a soft press of heat. She shifted between his legs, and he slipped his hands inside the back of her shirt to feel the smooth heat of her skin. Her fingers stroked his neck and the tender spot behind his ear, and then she was turning his head to the side and lowering her lips to his neck. 

She brushed his ear with her nose and pressed her lips to the pulse at his throat, and Fenris inhaled slowly as a wave of heat rose through his body. Hawke trailed her tongue along the tattoos that marred his skin until she found his collarbone, and he exhaled as her teeth grazed the tendon in his neck. 

He gathered her shirt in his hands and tugged. She obeyed his wordless request, sitting up on her knees to pull the shirt over her head, and Fenris propped himself up on his elbows to watch as she divested herself of her breastband as well. 

She sat back and shucked her trousers and her smallclothes, and Fenris swallowed before speaking softly. “You don’t have to take it all off,” he rasped, even as his greedy eyes roamed over her naked body. “What if there is an emergency and someone comes…?”

She straddled his fully-clothed body. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I want you to look at me. Maybe I’m hoping to boost your morale.” 

Her smile was small but cheeky, and Fenris couldn’t help but smile in return. “Consider it boosted,” he said, and he lifted his hips beneath her. 

Her smile became a grin. She arched her back slowly, pressing her chest toward him, and when his predictable gaze fell to her breasts, she took his hands and placed them on her body. 

She guided his glowing left palm to her breast. “Touch me,” she whispered. 

He didn’t reply; he only obeyed. He brushed his fingers over her nipple, savouring the firm feel of it beneath every fingertip, then grasped her bottom and pulled her closer on his lap. 

He lowered his mouth to her breast, and she gasped. Fenris lapped carefully at her nipple until she moaned, then lifted his head to look her in the eye. 

“Silence, Hawke,” he whispered. “Remember, your sounds are mine.” 

She grinned at him. In the warm glow of the alchemical lamp, her eyes were dark and brilliant with lust. “You’d better give me something to be silent about, then,” she retorted. 

Fenris smirked, then wrapped one arm around her waist and rolled so she was flat on her back beneath him. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, but her laughter soon melted into eager panting breaths as Fenris kneeled between her legs and pushed her knees apart. 

He smoothed his palms along the buttery-soft skin of her inner thighs and stared at her for a moment. The sounds of the soldiers were apparent still, clanking and crackling fires and laughter, but they were little more than background noise now, a backdrop for the sight of Hawke spread wide before him. He drank her in greedily, watching the way the flickering lamplight highlighted the curves and peaks of her body, and when she started to twist restlessly beneath him, he lowered his lips between her legs. 

He pressed his tongue to her swollen little bud, and she eagerly jerked her hips. Fenris lapped at the sweetness that was pooling between her legs, careful to take every fragrant drop on his tongue, and when she was shining from the moisture of his mouth alone, he pressed another ravenous kiss to her heated centre.

She undulated toward him, and Fenris lifted his gaze to watch the desperate rise and fall of her ribs as he caressed her clit with the flat of his tongue. Soon she was rocking against his mouth, meeting his lips and tongue with the same zeal that he was bestowing upon her, and when her thighs went tense beneath his palms, he knew she was close. 

Her ecstasy came upon her, heralded by the shuddering of her body as she silently thrust her hips toward his face, and Fenris gave her the firm treatment of his lips and tongue until she settled onto the bedding. 

She pulled her hand away from her mouth and reached for him silently, and Fenris rose to his knees and shucked his clothes as swiftly as he could in the confines of the tent. Then he was stretching over her, hooking her leg over his hip and cupping her flushed cheek in his palm, and when he sheathed himself inside of her, he silenced them both with a desperate kiss. 

He could feel the vibration of her moan against his tongue, and he moaned in turn as she took him all the way to the hilt. He sank slowly into her warmth, long slow thrusts that brought their bodies flush together, lifting his pleasure higher with every careful draw and pull.

His fingers slid into the tufty hair at her nape. She curled her hips to meet his every thrust, then suddenly she broke from his kiss and clasped his jaw in her fingers. 

Fenris wrenched his eyes open and looked at her. Her face was rife with pleasure, her eyebrows lifted and her lips parted and her eyes glowing with heat, and now that he was looking at her beautiful and rapturous face, he couldn’t look away. 

He stared at her in silence, and without breaking her gaze, she eagerly nodded her head. 

Fenris withdrew slowly, then thrust into her hard, and her lips parted more desperately still. “More,” she whispered – the faintest whisper, so faint that it was practically inaudible: more a movement of her lips than an actual trace of sound.

He nodded, then slammed his hips into hers, and she threw her head back in ecstasy before meeting his eyes once more. Within seconds, they were fucking hard and fast, and her nails were digging into his shoulder while his fingertips gripped the nape of her neck, and still their eyes were desperately locked on each other’s faces as they fucked and breathed as fiercely and quietly as they could. 

Hawke’s heated gaze was steady and intense, and her face was full of all the best things: love and desire and sheer unadulterated pleasure, all those glorious and hedonistic things that Fenris only ever remembered enjoying with her. With every forceful thrust, that pleasure was rising higher, spanning from his pelvis to his calves and his chest and his throat, building and rising and pushing higher still until –

Fenris couldn’t stand it anymore. He broke his own rule and gasped aloud. “I love you,” he groaned. 

She grabbed his neck and kissed him hard, and he groaned into her mouth as they fucked more desperately still. Then her lips were on his cheekbone, and her breath was ghosting across his ear. “I love you too,” she gasped. “Fenris, I love you, I love you so much–”

“I… Rynne, I love _you_ ,” he insisted. His own voice was a desperate guttural whimper, but he didn’t care; they didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, and his words of protection and togetherness were sincere – _venhedis,_ nothing he’d ever said was more sincere than his promises to keep them together and safe. 

But anything could happen tomorrow. His promises might only take him so far when blood magic was at play, and when had fate ever really been kind to him?

“Hey,” Hawke murmured. She stroked his cheek. “Stay with me.”

“I am,” he whispered. “I am here.” He focused on her face, her beautiful pleasured face with her soft raspberry lips and her glittering copper eyes, then lowered his lips to hers and redoubled his amorous efforts. 

He thrust into her hard and fast, and she gripped his arms and whimpered into his mouth, then she broke away from his lips and told him she loved him, telling him over and over again until her words were a mess of affection and pleasure and longing as she whispered them against his cheekbone. Minutes later they were shuddering together, and his gasping mouth was pressed to her salt-laced neck as she ground her pelvis firmly against him to wring every last drop of pleasure from his body. 

They gradually fell still, and Fenris closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance of her skin. Her fingers carded carefully through his hair, and her husky voice floated to his ears. 

“This better not have been farewell sex on your part,” she said. 

He opened his eyes, then carefully lifted himself onto his elbows to look down at her. She was frowning slightly, and Fenris brushed a thumb over her eyebrow as though to wipe the frown away. 

“Of course not,” he told her seriously. “Never.”

Her eyebrows relaxed. “All right,” she said. “It’s just… I know you’re worried. I don’t want you to worry.” She smiled faintly. “And now you don’t have to worry, because this was good luck sex.”

_I don’t want you to worry, either,_ he thought. But he smiled in return. “Only _good_ luck?” he teased softly. “A poor showing on my part, then. I would have called it excellent luck sex.”

She grinned, then fondly pinched his chin. “You fucking smooth talker,” she murmured. 

He smiled more widely, but their smiles didn’t last; Fenris watched as Hawke’s face grew serious once more, and he could feel his own face creasing into a frown as well. 

He carefully shifted off of her body, and they slid under the covers and curled together. Hawke wrapped her arm around him and tucked her knee between his thighs, and Fenris smoothed her sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead before pulling her closer still. 

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I am scared, Hawke,” he confessed. “I… I’ve tried to be lighthearted about all of this…” 

“I noticed,” she said softly. She squeezed him gently. “That’s why I asked if you were humouring me.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, then sighed heavily. Her fingers curled and flexed idly against his back in a relaxed sort of scratch, and against all odds, Fenris felt his mind drifting at her soothing touch. 

Her quiet voice roused him from his floating reverie. “We’ll protect each other,” she said softly. “That’s all there is to it.” 

He nodded. Cullen had planned everything for tomorrow as best he could, but the situation was dire and the risks were high. Even the best-laid plans could be set awry by the simplest of bad intentions, and any number of unpredictable factors could arise to throw their plans into disarray. 

In the face of possible chaos, there were only two things Fenris and Hawke could do: stay together and protect each other. He pulled her closer into the shelter of his naked body, and as she wrapped her arm more securely around his waist, he made a silent vow: that he and Hawke would stay together and protect each other, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter(s?) will be the siege on Adamant Fortress, and the dreaded foray into the Fade. I know a few of you guys have been waiting (and waiting and waiting??) for this moment, so I really hope I’ll do it justice. It’s also my favourite main mission in the game, so EXTRA PRESSURE ALERT [panics in Tevene]. 
> 
> And as always, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you want to drop by and say hi. xo


	26. Regrets - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of two chapters covering the events at Adamant Fortress and the Fade.

Fenris tried not to dwell on regrets.

He believed in moving on. In moving past the mistakes of the past and doing what was necessary to move his life forward. This wasn’t to say he didn’t have regrets; there were many moments in his life where he wished he’d done things differently. Refusing to kill the fog warriors, for instance, or coming to Kirkwall sooner than he had, or remaining at Hawke’s side after their first night together so as not to waste so many years apart.

In retrospect, there were always things he could have done differently. But he tried not to linger on them. Regret was like quicksand: if you stood in it too long examining the _what-if_ s and _maybe_ s and _if-only_ s, it was all too easy to be buried alive. Besides, if Fenris had done anything differently, perhaps his life would have taken a worse course. Perhaps he would have died along with the fog warriors at Danarius’s hand, or died in some other battle on Seheron if he had decided to remain.

Perhaps he would never have met Hawke at all. 

Regret was useless. It was far better to learn from your mistakes and to do your best not to repeat them. But the mistake he’d made at Adamant Fortress… Fenris wasn’t sure what he was supposed to learn from it. 

After the terrible events at Adamant Fortress, Fenris was full of regret. And he wasn’t sure how they were going to move on.

***************************

Fenris wrenched his sword from the demon’s bisected corpse, then straightened up and looked around the main hall of the fortress. Cassandra, Stroud and Blackwall were finishing off a furiously fighting trio of Warden mages, and a nearby demon squalled in pain as one of Sera’s arrows sank through its mottled chest. 

The fight was nearly over. The Warden mages who had opened the rift were dead, and Fenris and Bull had destroyed the biggest pride demon with Hawke and Dorian’s help. But Erimond had fled up the southern stairs with Clarel hot on his heels. That blighted damned dragon was soaring overhead and setting Fenris’s nerves on edge with its every shrieking cry, and the large rift that the Warden mages had torn open was still frothing with demonic activity. 

He strode toward the rift and reached toward it, but before he could activate the anchor, another wave of demons spilled through. 

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” he hissed. He wouldn’t be able to close this rift unless the flow of demons slowed down. 

“I can help,” Carver shouted. He ran over to Fenris’s side, then took a deep breath and reached for the rift. 

“How-?” Fenris started to ask, but he fell quiet as Carver closed his eyes and started muttering to himself. A cool blue light glowed from Carver’s palm, and as Carver continued to mumble to himself, the rift seemed to… grow still, somehow. 

To Fenris’s growing amazement, the movement of the rift’s twisting green tendrils gradually slowed, then stuttered to a near-stop.

Carver exhaled heavily and blew out a breath, and Fenris looked at him. “Impressive,” he said. 

Carver rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, all in the course of duty, you know. Templar training and all,” he said, but there was a proud little smile on his face. 

Hawke ran over. “Damn, Carv,” she panted. “You could stop demons from coming through all this time? Why didn’t you ever do that before?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t need to. You had your way of dealing with the rifts before I joined up.”

“Yeah, but you could have saved us so much trouble! Stopping demons from coming through…” She punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Looks like you Templars are good for something after all.”

Then a small demon popped through the rift and almost landed on top of Sera.

She squealed in disgust and kicked it. “Slimy bollocks, get out of it!” she shrieked. 

Stroud ran to her aid, and Hawke grimaced. “Or not.”

Carver scowled and folded his arms petulantly. “Look, it doesn’t _stop_ the demons, all right? It just sort of… reinforces the space around the rift so they have a harder time coming through.” 

Hawke raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, but Fenris cut her off before an argument could start. “It’s good enough,” he said firmly. “Carver, you did well.” He reached toward the rift with his left palm and pulled. 

Nothing happened. 

Fenris frowned in confusion, then tried again. But no matter how hard he pulled at the rift with his marked left hand, its trembling tendrils of magic refused to budge. 

“Something wrong, boss?” Bull asked. 

Fenris lowered his hand and glared at the anchor. “It is not working,” he said. “I don’t–”

The dragon swooped low over the main hall with another rib-rattling roar, and their whole party instinctively ducked. Hawke and Dorian and Solas threw barriers over all of them, protecting them from the dragon’s blistering burst of unnatural red lightning, and Fenris waited impatiently for the dragon to wheel away before rising to his feet again. 

He scowled at his palm, then at Solas as the elvhen mage drew close. “Can you explain this?” he demanded. “It won’t close the rift. What is the point of this mark if it doesn’t close the rifts?”

“A complicated question, but not one that I think you want the answer to right now,” Solas said. “It seems the rift is being kept open by something on the other side.”

Fenris growled in frustration. “How do we close it, then?” 

“That idiot Erimond,” Hawke piped up. “He made the mages open it. He’ll know how to close the damned thing.”

Varric grimaced. “Better catch him before Clarel does, then. She looked about ready to murder him on the spot.”

Fenris nodded sharply. “Yes. All right,” he said more loudly as their crew gathered around. “Cassandra, Blackwall, Bull, Dorian, Sera: remain here. Guard the rift from this side, and help our soldiers as best you can. The rest of us will pursue Clarel and Erimond.”

They nodded and murmured agreement, then took up their stations around the rift, which was slowly spitting demons again. Carver turned to Fenris. “Shouldn’t I remain, as well?” he asked. “I can keep the rift quiet.”

Fenris shook his head. “No. Come with us,” he said. “You can help us to subdue the magister. I would like to see him humbled by a Templar’s power,” he added somewhat vindictively.

Carver straightened, then nodded sharply to Fenris. “Yes sir – er, I mean, Fenris. I’m, er, I’m with you.” 

Hawke snickered and elbowed him. “You called him ‘sir’.”

Carver scowled. “So what? He’s my commanding officer,” he said defensively. “Or, well, my commanding officer’s commanding officer… you know what I mean.”

Hawke snickered again and linked her arm with her brother’s. Fenris ignored them and frowned at the handful of uncorrupted Warden warriors who were hovering nearby. “You heard Clarel’s command,” he shouted at them. “Go help the Inquisition, or consider your lives forfeit.”

The Wardens saluted him and ran off, and Dorian huffed in amusement. “Ever the charmer, Fenris. I do enjoy your sweetly persuasive threats.”

Fenris shot him a reproving look. “What are you still doing here? I gave you a job.”

“I suppose you did,” he said affably. “Do be careful not to die, won’t you?” He winked at Hawke, then sauntered away while tossing a casual fireball at a nearby demon. 

Fenris _tsk_ ed at Dorian’s departing back. Then Stroud bowed his head. “The Wardens will help, Inquisitor. I swear it. They will make up for what they have done.”

Fenris nodded brusquely. “Come. There’s no time to waste,” he said. He took off at a run toward the southern stairs with Hawke and Varric at his sides.

Carver glanced at Stroud as they ran. “You Wardens have a lot of making up to do. This is a right mess.”

“Indeed,” Solas agreed.

“One we will be all too happy to fix,” Stroud replied, and Fenris noticed that his tone was slightly hard. 

Hawke glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “Now now, boys, let’s focus on one thing at a time,” she said cheerfully. “Catch the nasty magister, close the rift, then you can argue to your hearts’ content.”

“Hey, hang on a second,” Varric said suddenly. “Has anyone seen the kid?”

“Who?” Stroud asked. 

An overwhelming blast of sound and rubble and dust knocked them off their feet. 

Fenris pushed himself upright, coughing fitfully to clear the dust from his mouth and nose. “H-hawke?” he rasped. He could barely see through the cloud of dust and shattered brick that had barely missed their group.

“Here,” she said weakly. “I’m–”

A barrier suddenly sprang into place over him, and Fenris flinched as an arc of violent red lightning skittered harmlessly over their group. A few moments later, the dragon’s powerful wings carried it away once more, and Fenris pushed himself to his feet. 

He helped Hawke to rise, then turned to the others. “Are we all right?” he said sharply. “Any injuries?”

“Just the usual bruises, you know, standard stuff,” Varric said. 

“Rynne!” Carver yelled. 

Fenris whipped around, and his stomach dropped in horror. A Warden mage had snuck up behind her, and he held her struggling body in a headlock and a wicked knife in his other hand. 

Fenris’s lyrium marks flared to life, but before he could reach her side, the Warden mage gasped and released her. 

Hawke stumbled forward, then spun toward her attacker with her staff in hand and a snarl on her face. But the Warden mage was dead on the ground, bleeding copiously from his wide-open throat, and his killer was standing just behind him with two bloodied daggers in his hands.

“Cole!” Hawke exclaimed. “There you are! Where have you been?”

Cole sheathed his weapons and tilted his head. “I was helping,” he said. “Stealthy, slipping soft, silent so they don’t see, but I helped. If they saw, they might be scared. I didn’t want to scare them more.” 

“Ah. Assisting our soldiers on the battlements, I presume?” Solas said. 

Cole nodded. “Yes.”

Hawke hugged him. “You absolute gem. You’re sticking with me now,” she said happily. She released him and smiled up at Fenris. “Let’s continue on, shall we?”

He swallowed hard. A moment: that’s how long he’d turned away from her. A single breath of a moment, and if Cole hadn’t been there… 

He shoved the horrific thought aside. Ruminating wouldn’t help them get through this alive. He briefly squeezed Cole’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

They bolted along the parapet and up another flight of stairs. Warden mages were scattered along the way, accompanied by their vile demon pets. Fenris spared no mercy for any of them, felling Wardens and demons alike with equal ferocity. Corypheus’s dragon made another circle of the castle, and their party was forced to take shelter behind a crumbling wall for a long minute until the crackling flare of its lightning cooled down.

They followed the trail of corrupted mages and demons until they reached a short stone corridor, and Fenris pointed. “There they are,” he snapped. The corridor opened into a broad open platform, and Clarel and Erimond were battling there, flinging projectiles of fire and lightning at each other in a constant flux of a violent orange and purple. 

They bolted down the corridor, and as they emerged onto the platform, it became clear that Clarel had the upper hand: she was deflecting each of Erimond’s attacks with quick flicks of her wrist, and every bolt of energy she threw in return made him stumble. 

“You,” she shouted. “You destroyed the Grey Wardens!” She strode toward him and threw a flare of pure rift magic, striking him to his knees. 

He shoved himself effortfully to his feet. “You did that yourself, you stupid bitch,” he snarled. “All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands bloody!”

A fresh ball of fire was forming in his palm. He raised his chin imperiously. “You could have served a new god,” he announced. 

Fenris turned to Carver. “Leash him,” he commanded. 

Carver nodded and twisted his hand, and the fireball disappeared from Erimond’s palm. 

The magister squawked in alarm, then looked up with a snarl. “You–”

Clarel struck him into silence with another bolt of magic. “You poisoned us,” she accused. “You tricked us, you – you tricked _me_. But I will never serve the Blight.” She raised her staff, and a flickering glow of purple lightning began to build at its rounded tip. 

Before she could strike a killing blow, a huge shadow soared overhead. 

Fenris and the others ducked. The dragon swooped low and snatched Clarel into its gaping maw.

“Maker’s balls!” Hawke gasped.

The dragon soared around the platform and landed on a nearby crumbling tower. It shook its enormous head roughly like a wolf tearing at an enemy’s leg, then flung the Warden-Commander down to the ground. 

Her broken body skittered across the platform, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Hawke started to run toward her, but before she could approach, the dragon leapt off of the tower and landed on the platform with a ground-shaking rumble.

Hawke stumbled to her knees, and the dragon took a slow, sinuous step toward them. Its mouth was gaping open, blood trickling from its toothy jaws as it stalked them like an enormous cat.

Erimond pushed himself upright, and with a last scathing look at Fenris and the others, he bolted past the dragon toward the stone corridor and back toward the main keep.

“And there he goes,” Varric drawled, but his voice was taut with nerves. 

“What do we do?” Carver asked. He looked desperately at Fenris. “Do we… do we fight the dragon?”

Fenris sneered at the dragon, even as he backed away from it. “It appears we have no choice. Ready yourselves,” he snapped. He pulled his sword from his back and glanced at Hawke, who had managed to sneak her way unseen around to the dragon’s side.

She was staring wide-eyed at Clarel, who was splayed on her back beneath the dragon. “She’s still alive,” she hissed.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Sure enough, a spark of violet magic sizzled beneath the dragon. As Fenris watched, the flare of magic grew larger still. 

The dragon readied itself to pounce, looking for all the world like a huge cat, then launched itself toward them. 

A blinding flare of Clarel’s magic exploded beneath the dragon right at the moment that it leapt, and the dragon stumbled and fell onto its shoulder with a ground-shaking _smash_.

Fenris and the others hastily dodged aside, and the dragon went skidding off the end of the platform with a hair-raising shriek. Its enormous front claws scrambled at the end of the platform, but to no avail: it fell from the platform, then took to the air and flew away with an angry roar.

Then the ancient platform began to crumble away.

“Retreat!” Solas yelled, and they all tried to run for the corridor back to the castle. But the platform was unstable: it was falling away beneath their running feet, and Fenris could barely run fast enough to escape the crumbling stone beneath his toes.

He heard a shout of alarm from behind him, then Hawke’s yell. “Carver!” 

He turned. Carver was clinging to the edge of the platform by one hand. 

Fenris skidded to a stop and ran back to grab Carver’s hand. He hauled Carver up to the edge of the platform, but before they could regain their feet, the entire top of the platform began to fall – with Fenris and Carver on it. 

“ _Fenris!_ ” Hawke screamed. She was running toward him, and he tried to yell _no_ , to tell her to stay back and to run to safety, but he was falling, and his stomach was lodged in his throat from the vertigo and he couldn’t speak the words to make her stop –

And now Hawke was falling too, and Cole was tumbling beside her and Solas too – all of them were falling, plummeting off of the broken platform in a straight drop toward the unforgiving ground… 

Fenris couldn’t think. He couldn’t think, he was paralyzed, desperate, panicked, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want _her_ to die, he couldn’t let her die –

Without thinking, without meaning to, without any intention or plan in mind, he held out his palms and _pushed_. 

Green light burst from the mark on his palm, flaring out below them and around them in an enormous scintillating blaze of magic, and Fenris instinctively closed his eyes against the blinding brightness. 

All of a sudden, he jerked to a stop.

The suddenness of the stop was like a punch to the gut. Fenris dragged in an effortful breath, then gasped in one more, and finally he opened his eyes. 

He was… hanging. Hanging in the air…? Or… wait. Was that the ground overhead?

He forced himself to breathe. Then he fell _up_ and hit the ground. 

He shut his eyes once more and lay flat on his belly for a moment. He breathed effortfully through the dizziness, waiting for his stomach and his sense of balance to catch up with his body. When the ground once again felt like the ground and not like the ceiling, he opened his eyes.

He was… _venhedis_ , he didn’t know where he was. It looked like the Wounded Coast on a bad day, or perhaps like the mud-trodden path to Sundermount when the weather was truly dismal, but even worse. Objects were floating or resting on the wrong surface of everything else, almost as though this place couldn’t decide if it had a proper up or down, and everything was wreathed in a thin haze of sickly green mist.

He sat up and looked around, and the first person his eyes found was Stroud. The Warden was standing on a roughly-carved stone column about ten yards away – standing perpendicular to the ground on the side of the column, that is. 

As Fenris watched in total bemusement, the Warden fell off the side of the column and into a murky puddle of water with a… well, not a _splash_ , exactly, but with a sort of echo that was vaguely reminiscent of a splash. 

“What the fuck?” Hawke said. 

Fenris looked around until he spotted her. She was hanging upside down in the air with her fists on her hips, but despite being upside down, her hair and her armour were perfectly in place. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Are we dead?” she said archly. “Because if this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes us an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

Fenris pushed himself to his feet and walked over to stand beneath her. She reached down to him, and a moment later she fell from the empty sky into his open arms. 

He carefully set her on her feet, and she reached up and stroked his cheek. Fenris stared at her face for a moment – her living, breathing face, _thank the Maker_ – and when she smiled up at him, he did his best to return her smile. 

“We’re all right,” she whispered. She pinched his earlobe gently, then stepped away from him. “Varric, what’s going on over there with my baby brother?”

Varric was patting Carver’s shoulder. At Hawke’s words, Carver lifted his face, and Fenris raised his eyebrows at how pale Carver looked. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. Then he retched and threw up. 

Hawke winced. “Urgh. I hope whoever lives here doesn’t mind a little vomit in their front hall. Wherever the hell ‘this’ is.”

“This is the Fade,” Solas said.

Fenris looked over at him. He looked perfectly at ease – perfectly content, in fact, and Fenris frowned slightly at how pleased he seemed.

He turned to face them all. “Fenris opened a rift. We came through and survived,” he explained. He looked around at their dismal surroundings with a small smile. “I never thought I would ever find myself here physically.” He pointed toward a trio of tall black spires in the distance. “Look. The Black City, almost close enough to touch!”

“The Black City?” Hawke said. She slowly wandered over to stand beside Solas. “I thought that was just a figment of everyone’s imagination.” 

“Looks pretty real from here,” Varric called out. 

Hawke frowned, then turned to Solas. “But it could still be imaginary, right? Even though we’re here physically…?” She trailed off, and her frown deepened as she studied the stark black towers. 

Solas glanced over his shoulder. “Cole, how does it feel to be back home?”

Fenris looked over at Cole. The spirit-boy was wringing his hands and looking frightened, and Fenris frowned; he’d never seen Cole express any emotions this strongly before. 

His eerie blue eyes were fixed on the writhing green-and-grey sky. He shook his head and rubbed his hands together. “I can’t be here. Not like this, not like me,” he fretted.

“It’s all right,” Solas said soothingly. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “We’ll make it right.”

Cole gazed desperately at him. “This place is wrong,” he insisted. “I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like this.” 

“It’s not how I remember the Fade, either,” Hawke said. “Not even that weird time that Marethari sent us Fadewalking to save Feynriel from his demons.” She looked over at Varric. “Remember that? Everything was a little green and hazy, but it didn’t look _this_ bad.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. He was studying their surroundings apprehensively. “I really hope this doesn’t mean everyone’s going to stab you in the back.” 

Hawke laughed. “Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten about that. Bloody Bels and Merrill.” She winked at Varric. “At least I can count on _you_.” 

Varric chuckled, but Fenris was unamused. Hawke’s decision to save Feynriel from the demons had sparked one of their bigger arguments, especially once she’d admitted that Feynriel had gone off to Tevinter for training.

She glanced at him with a smile, then cleared her throat. “So, er. What do we do now?”

“We entered the Fade through a rift,” Solas said. “Logically speaking, we should be able to exit through a rift as well.”

Stroud strode over to join them. “In our world, the rift the demons came through was in the main hall. Perhaps we can escape that way.”

Fenris looked at Solas. “You said something on this side was preventing the rift from being closed. Is Stroud correct? Could we escape through that open rift?”

“It is a reasonable proposition, yes,” Solas said. “If we subdue the demon that is keeping the rift open, we should be able to close the rift once we have returned to the… to the real world.”

Hawke clapped her hands. “Excellent plan. Oh, I do love a good plan.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “You never stick to any plans.”

She widened her eyes. “Now that’s unfair. I would love to stick to a plan. It’s not my fault that odd things always happen to mess them up.” 

Fenris sighed. As far as ‘odd things’ went, this was certainly one of the strangest events they’d ever suffered together.

“Come,” he said to their group, and he ushered Hawke forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. 

They began to make their way through the strange landscape of the Fade. Their footsteps echoed in an oddly sonorant way despite the lack of walls for sound to bounce off of, and as Fenris tromped through the brackish puddles on the ground, he couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or unnerved that his feet weren’t getting wet. 

Solas, in contrast, seemed to be having a very good time. “This is fascinating,” he said. “It is not the area I would have chosen, of course, but to physically walk within the Fade…” He sighed wistfully.

Varric scoffed. “Right,” he said sardonically. “You like it here. Isn’t that wonderful.”

“Yes,” Solas said. “Literally.” 

Fenris shot a mistrustful look at a nearby skeleton that was curled uncomfortably inside of a broken vase. He was no stranger to frightening dreams, but even his nightmares seemed more… cohesive, somehow, or more organized than the seemingly random array of unnerving statues and items and phenomena he was seeing. 

He glanced at Solas. “You are the most knowledgeable about this place. Should we expect danger?”

“I have never been to this part of the Fade,” Solas said. “But the demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess,” he said, with a casual glance at a nearby headless statue. “I suggest we remain wary of its manipulations, and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said noncommittally. He glanced at Hawke, who was looking around at everything with rapt curiosity. 

She examined a fully laid table that was perched on a nearby wall, then wandered off toward a bookshelf that was tucked away in a corner. 

“Hawke,” he said warningly. He trotted after her. “We should remain on the path.”

“What path?” she said. “There’s no clear path in this place.” She reached for the single book on the shelf. 

Carver ran over and grabbed her wrist. “Can you not?” he hissed. “Don’t touch anything!”

“Why not?” she demanded. 

“Because you don’t know if demons will jump out of it!” Carver said. He folded his arms and gave the book a highly suspicious look. “We shouldn’t touch anything while we’re here.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Carver, use your brain. We’re touching the ground by virtue of walking on it,” she said. “It’s impossible to march around this place without touching anything at all.” She raised her eyebrows at Solas, who had come over to join them. “Do _you_ think it’s safe to touch things?”

He folded his hands behind his back. “Provided you use the same caution as you would in back in the real world, touching some items may be—”

“See?” Hawke said pertly to her brother. “Solas says it’s safe.” She plucked the book from the shelf before anyone could stop her.

“Maker’s bloody mercy,” Carver muttered, and he stomped away. 

Hawke rolled her eyes. “This is what happens when you bring a Templar to the Fade,” she said to Solas quietly. “All censure and no sense.” 

Fenris pursed his lips at this unfair statement, but Hawke didn’t notice; she was flipping through the book with a slowly deepening frown.

“It’s the same text over and over,” she said. “Look.” She held the book out to Fenris. 

He gingerly peered at the open page without touching it. Sure enough, the same short entry was written over and over with perfect precision, as though it had been recopied countless times by a tireless hand. 

He started to read the passage. It seemed to be notes by a somniari about how to navigate the Fade. 

Hawke poked Solas in the arm. “This is exactly how _you_ describe it. Letting the Fade guide you instead of trying to force it.”

“Precisely,” Solas said. He pointed at the page. “See here, this line about spirits guiding him along new paths? I have made many good friends this way. In fact…”

Fenris tuned Solas out as he read the passage. When he’d reached the end of the passage, he looked up at Solas with a frown. “Following the logic here, we should not be trying to find a path, then,” he said slowly. “We should… what? Wander aimlessly through this place until a helpful spirit comes to guide us to the rift?”

He couldn’t quite shave the skepticism from his voice. A tiny crease appeared between Solas’s eyebrows. “Admittedly, this is not the average area of the Fade,” Solas said. “It would be inadvisable to wait for such help. I would not suggest lingering in any one place too long, in case we attract undesirable attention.”

Hawke frowned. “But then why—” 

“Agreed,” Fenris said to Solas, with a pointed look at Hawke. “We should move on.” He chivvied her back toward the others. 

She sighed. “You think I’m being foolish,” she said quietly.

“I think we need to return to Adamant as quickly as possible,” Fenris replied. “The others likely think we’re dead. This is not some strange request for help in Kirkwall. We don’t have time for exploring.”

She rubbed her hair awkwardly. “I know, I know. I just…” She shrugged. “I’m trying to make the best of it, I suppose.”

“The best of what?” Carver said as they drew close. 

“The best of this fresh pile of dung we’ve stepped in, of course,” she said. “I mean, it could be worse. We’re all alive, right? Already we’re a step ahead. Might as well learn something while we’re here.” She smiled winningly at all of them. 

Fenris studied her determined smile. She was trying so hard, trying to be hopeful and optimistic in this unnatural place, and the longer he looked at her lovely smiling face, the more the jumpy feeling in his belly seemed to melt away.

Stroud bowed his head slightly to her. “An admirable attitude. But perhaps we should stay focused on the task of getting home.”

Hawke winced. “Oof,” she said. She elbowed Cole playfully. “If the Warden is scolding me, I’d really better get my act together, hm?” She pointed at a nearby staircase that was flanked, incomprehensibly, by two enormous Ferelden crow statues. “Let’s go that way, then. We’ve got to start somewhere.”

They mounted the stairs. And at the top of the stairs, they were met by an elderly woman wearing Chantry robes and a very tall bonnet. 

Fenris gaped at her in surprise. He recognized her from that shadow-memory he’d seen in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so many long months ago when he’d first tried to close the Breach.

Stroud’s eyes went wide with shock, and Hawke frowned. “Wait a minute. Are you…?”

“Divine Justinia,” Stroud breathed. 

She folded her hands demurely and gave them a polite half-bow. “I greet you, Warden,” she said to Stroud, then turned to Hawke. “And you, Champion.”

Fenris frowned. Hadn’t the Divine been sacrificed by Corypheus in that shadow-memory, though? 

He folded his arms and eyed her shrewdly. “You can’t be the Divine,” he said. “The real Divine died at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” 

“How can you be sure?” she asked. “How much of Haven do you truly remember? You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves.” She tilted her head benignly. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Really? How hard is it to answer one question?” She gestured to herself. “I’m a human, and you are…” She trailed off and smiled expectantly at the pretend-Divine. 

“I am here to help you,” she said gently. She turned to face Fenris. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

He narrowed his eyes mistrustfully. “How do you know I’m the Inquisitor?” he asked. He folded his arms. “You plucked that fact from our minds, didn’t you? You’re not the real Divine. You’re a spirit.” 

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus,” she said. She turned away and looked off toward the sickeningly writhing sky. “It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” She turned to face them all once more. “The false calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? The Nightmare’s work.”

Stroud scowled. “I would gladly avenge the insult this ‘Nightmare’ dealt my brethren.”

The so-called Divine bowed slightly to him. “You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair.” She turned to Fenris. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you.”

Fenris recoiled. “What do you mean?”

“The gap in your memories, Inquisitor,” she said softly. “Before you do anything else, you must recover them.” She held out a hand to him. Hovering over her palm was a tiny glowing ball of light. 

“These are your memories,” she said. 

Fenris shirked away from her hand. “How do I know you speak the truth?” he demanded. “How do we know you’re not a demon sent to tempt us from our path?” He waved at the golden glow in her palm. “That could be more malevolent magic, for all I know. Disguised as a source of light to lead us astray.”

Solas took a smell step forward. “Fenris—” 

Fenris held up a hand to cut him off. “No. You are biased to trust spirits. I would prefer to err on the side of caution with this… pretender.” He cast the fake Divine another mistrustful look. 

Solas lifted his chin slightly. “I was _going_ to commend you for your critical thinking on this matter,” he said in a slightly pointed tone. “But there is a simple way to test if the force she holds is magic or memory.”

“There is?” Hawke asked. 

“Yes,” Solas said. He gestured to Carver. “We have a Templar present. If Carver is unable to nullify the item in Justinia’s hand, that will show that what she holds is something other than magic. By the logic of the Templars’ training, at least,” he said with a small bow to Carver.

Carver pulled a little face. “I don’t know about this. Are you sure I should use my abilities here?” He looked around nervously. “This is where all magic comes from. What if I, er, cancel out the Fade?”

“Cancel out the whole entire Fade?” Hawke said skeptically. “That would take a lot of Templar punch, Carv. I seriously doubt you have to worry about that.”

Carver scowled at her, but Solas spoke before he could retort. “If you focus solely on the item in Justinia’s hand, you should be able to contain the effect,” he said to Carver. 

Carver looked askance at Fenris. Fenris shrugged. “Try,” he said.

Carver took a deep breath, then held his hand out toward Justinia’s glowing outstretched palm. his hand glowed a blueish-white colour, and a split second later, he yelped in surprise and withdrew his hand. 

“What?” Fenris snapped. His gaze darted over the golden glow in Justinia’s hand, then back to Carver. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s not magic,” Carver said. “Not any magic I’ve ever touched, at least. But I — I saw something!” He looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “I saw… Maker’s mercy, is that what Corypheus looks like? With the red lyrium sticking out of his face and everything?”

Hawke grabbed Carver’s arm. “You saw Corypheus?” she asked. She looked at the golden glow. “Shit. That must mean it really is Fenris’s memories, then.”

Fenris glared at the golden glow, then sighed. “All right,” he said. “All right, I… I will have these back, then.” He swallowed hard, then reached for the golden glow in Justinia’s hand. 

The moment his fingers brushed over the golden globe of light, images burst from her palm, and Fenris flinched; it felt like his head was being squeezed by a tight band, and the harder it squeezed, the more images flashed in front of his eyes – in front of everyone’s eyes, in fact.

The Divine, bound by magic… Grey Warden mages restraining her… Corypheus and the orb… a Warden wrenching open a door, and Fenris standing behind it with a snarl, and the Divine striking the orb and sending it flying straight at his face — 

The images melted away, burned at the back of his eyes and back into his brain, and Fenris fell to his knees and clutched his head. An instant later, Hawke was kneeling beside him. 

“Hey,” she said urgently. “Are you all right?” She stroked his jaw until he lifted his face, then peered worriedly into his eyes. 

“I’m… I’m fine,” he said. “I…” 

“Your mark,” Stroud said. “It did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual!”

Fenris pushed himself to his feet with Hawke’s help. “I knew that,” he said distractedly. “Or I… we strongly suspected it. Solas and Morrigan thought…” He trailed off and rubbed his forehead. It was so _strange_ having this piece of memory back. Dissonant, somehow — like he was trying to force two unmatched pieces of information together in his mind: the knowledge that _I don’t remember what happened_ with the new, fresh images that had been taken from his own memory. 

“And now you may be certain,” the Divine said. 

Fenris looked at her. Her expression was calm and content, and her smile widened as he met her eyes. 

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you,” she said. “You have recovered some of yourself. I will prepare the way ahead, and help you find the rest.”

Fenris studied her for a moment. He still didn’t believe that she was the real Divine, but she had given him back his memories. 

He inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. She bowed to him, then disappeared. 

“Well, that clinches it,” Hawke said pertly. “Definitely not the real Divine.” 

“Unless she had some kind of weird Maker-given disappearing powers that no one ever talked about,” Varric added. 

Hakwe snickered and elbowed him. “Ooh. That would make for quite the Chantry secret. Good story material, that.”

Solas shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. “If it is a spirit that identifies so strongly with Justinia that it believes it is her, how can we say it is not?”

Stroud blinked. “Is that possible? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“It would be rare, certainly, but not impossible,” Solas said. “Spirits are capable of a great many feats that may surprise people, given the chance.” He glanced at Cole, who was standing off to the side.

Cole looked distinctly scared. Hawke hurried over to him. “Oh, Cole. Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to the real world in no time.” She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him over to join the rest of the group. “All right, my handsome friends, should we—”

“Look, is no one going to bring up the fact that it was mages helping Corypheus in that memory?” Carver suddenly said. He scowled at Stroud. “Grey Warden mages. Your colleagues were helping Corypheus!”

Stroud frowned. “I assumed he had taken their minds, as he has done with the mages at Adamant.” 

Carver snorted and folded his arms. “That’s a convenient excuse.”

Hawke slumped in annoyance. “Carv, it’s not convenient if it’s true. That Erimond ass said it himself: the demon-binding ritual made the mages slaves to Corypheus’s will.”

“And who decided to bind the demons in the first place?” Carver retorted. “The mages did!”

“Because they were desperate and scared!” Hawke snapped. 

“So _you_ would start summoning demons if you were scared?” Carver demanded.

“Obviously not,” Hawke said. “But I’m not—” 

“She is not like other mages,” Fenris interrupted. He frowned at Hawke. “You are too lenient. Giving the benefit of the doubt where it has not been earned.”

“Exactly,” Carver said. 

Hawke recoiled from Fenris and Carver. “What do you — you can’t be —” She floundered for a minute, then gestured angrily at Stroud. “They got hoodwinked by a demon! They were hoping to end the Blight before all of them croaked! They were trying to do the right thing!” 

“Or they were grasping for power,” Fenris said. “It would not be the first time that alleged good intentions have been twisted for selfish purposes.” 

Hawke folded her arms. “I am not talking about Anders with you right now,” she said matter-of-factly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Funny that Anders is the first person you thought of.”

She shot him a filthy look. Then Stroud spoke up. “I understand your concerns,” he said to Carver and Fenris. “But you must understand the duty of the Grey Wardens. We leave our lives behind and dedicate ourselves to fighting the Blight, no matter the cost. Our actions may be brutal, even reprehensible, but we know that the alternative is worse.” He sighed. “The blood sacrifices, the rituals… it is too far, even for me. But I can understand Clarel making the decision. Had I not known Corypheus was involved, I might have bowed my head and accepted my orders.”

“Blind obedience,” Solas said. “That is your defense?”

Fenris looked at him. His arms were folded, and he was eyeing Stroud with considerable disdain.

“Not blind, no,” Stroud said sharply. “Or I would not be standing here with you.”

“See?” Hawke said pointedly to Carver. “Stroud’s trying to make amends. Some of the other Wardens back in Adamant were helping us too.”

“Yes, the non-mage ones,” Carver said. 

Hawke recoiled as though he’d struck her. Then she took an aggressive step toward him. “You listen here—”

Fenris stepped between them. “Hawke…” 

“No!” she snapped at Fenris. “He’s been giving me a hard time since he came to Skyhold, and I’ve had it.” She glared at Carver. “You say you admire Cullen? You might want to try taking a fucking page from his book. He was an asshole at Kirkwall too, with his ‘tranquility might be the solution’ bullshit and his veiled threats to turn me in to the Circle, but he came around. He came around, Carver,” she yelled. “He was a Templar, and he came around. If you hate me so much, then maybe you should just leave!”

Her voice rang through the ugly atmosphere of the Fade. For a long, horrible moment, no one spoke. 

Then Carver spoke. “I wasn’t… Rynne, it’s not —”

“I know, I know,” she said. “It’s not always about me, right? Well, maybe for you, it is.” Her voice was shaking slightly now. “I thought it would be fun for us to run around together when you came to join us, but — surprise, surprise! — it sucks.” 

He wilted. “Rynne, come on…”

She shrugged and folded her arms. “I’m sorry you got saddled with two mages for sisters,” she said. “But there’s an easy solution. When we get out of the Fade, you can go back to Kirkwall. Maybe it was for the best that we didn’t see each other for two whole years.” She swallowed hard, then slipped her hand through Stroud’s elbow and smiled at everyone. “First things first though, right? First we kick some big scary demon ass. Then we go the fuck home.” She turned away and pulled Stroud along with her. 

“She’s very sad,” Cole said solemnly. He drifted away to follow her. 

Solas nodded politely then followed them as well, leaving Fenris, Carver and Varric to watch their departing backs. 

Varric clicked his tongue. “Not your finest moment, Junior.”

Carver ignored him and turned to Fenris. “That was rather dramatic, don’t you think?” he said plaintively. 

Fenris exhaled slowly. Then he looked Carver in the eye. “You need to talk to her,” he said. 

Carver grunted, and Fenris frowned. “Remember what I told you before,” he said. “Talk to her. Once we have escaped this cursed place, that is.” He shot a displeased look at their surroundings. 

“Uh, yeah. About that,” Varric said. “Shouldn’t we, you know, get a move on?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “Come.” He loped along in Hawke’s wake. 

It was just as Hawke had said: first things first. They would escape the Fade and return to the real world, and Fenris would close the blasted rift. 

Then he would do what he could to help Hawke repair the rift between herself and her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter will come either tonight or tomorrow. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	27. Regrets - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Schoute for listening and supporting my whiny ass while I dithered and agonized about certain little details in this chapter. ILU BBY. xoxoxo

Unfortunately for their little group, things didn’t get easier as they progressed through the Fade. Instead, they became more and more unsettling. 

Varric eyed a nearby mound of glowing scarlet crystal with undisguised apprehension. He turned to Solas. “What is red lyrium doing here?” he asked. “Is that… you know. Normal?”

“Lyrium has always played an unusual role in magic and the Fade,” Solas said. “It should come as no surprise that we would find it here.”

“Uh-huh,” Varric said. “But why _red_ lyrium?”

“Is it because people have bad dreams about red lyrium?” Hawke asked. “Maybe the red lyrium is just a figment of people’s imagin–”

“Don’t touch it,” Fenris, Carver and Varric said together. 

Hawke recoiled slightly. “I wasn’t going to. I’m foolish, but I’m not suicidal.” She scratched the back of her neck and shot them all a resentful look. “Maker’s balls, what everyone thinks of me today…”

Feeling slightly guilty, Fenris stepped closer to her and ran a hand down her back. She leaned into his side as Solas explained. 

“The Fade is affected by the thoughts and wishes of those in the real world, yes,” he said. “But that does not mean that the Fade is not real.” He gave Hawke a kindly look. “This is one concept you have found difficult to reconcile. Just because something is formed of imagination does not mean it is not real.” He gestured at their unsightly surroundings. “That is, after all, the nature of the Fade.”

Hawke frowned. “So… the red lyrium there is real. And it could fuck us up just as much as in the real world. Even though it could possibly turn blue if someone in the real world imagined normal lyrium instead?”

“Not quite,” Solas said. “Especially not in an area such as this, which is governed by a demon of such strength.” He looked up at the ominously floating boulders overhead. “Such places are governed by the demon’s own rules. You must remember that the native residents of the Fade are able to shape this place as they wish.”

Hawke wilted. “That lyrium’s staying red, then. And this place is going to forever be creepy.”

“That’s what I got out of that,” Varric said. He sighed heavily and continued along the mucky, misty path. 

They hadn’t gotten much farther before Fenris noticed a particular repeating feature in the Fade. Every fifty paces or so, there seemed to be what looked like large broken mirrors spaced out along their convoluted path.

Large mirrors that were uncomfortably familiar.

He gently took Hawke’s arm. “Hawke,” he said softly. 

“Mm?” she said. 

“These broken mirrors,” he said. “They look like–”

“Eluvians,” she said. “Yes, I was thinking that.” She huffed quietly. “Can you imagine if Merrill was here? She would probably explode on the spot from excitement. Or maybe from frustration since they’re all broken. I can’t quite decide.”

A chill ran down his spine. The thought of Merrill finding all these eluvians, with her ambitions and her blasted blood magic… It didn’t bear thinking about. 

“Why are there so many of them here?” he murmured. 

“I don’t know,” she replied. She raised her voice. “Hey, Solas!”

Solas turned around, then approached as Hawke gestured for him to come close. She jerked her thumb at the nearest broken mirror. “These are eluvians, right? Do you know why there are so many of them scattered around?” she asked. 

He studied the eluvian for a moment before replying. “What did Merrill tell you about them?”

“She said they were used to communicate across the ancient elven empire,” Hawke said. “But she didn’t know more than that.”

Carver and Varric wandered over. “Daisy said her eluvian had historic value. ‘An artifact of the people’ and all that,” Varric said. 

“It was dangerous,” Fenris cut in. “Cursed, most likely. More so after Merrill poured her own blood into it.” 

Solas rubbed his jaw before replying. “The eluvians were thought to span ancient Arlathan, yes,” he said slowly. “They… from what my research has shown, it seemed that the eluvians were used for travel. To move between locations.” 

Fenris frowned slightly. Solas seemed oddly hesitant. Had they finally found something that Solas didn’t know about? 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “What, like some sort of instant-travel thing? Step into an eluvian and an instant later, hey, you’re in Kirkwall?”

“Something like that, yes,” Solas said. “But the true nature of these objects is–”

“–more complex than that. I know,” Hawke said patiently. 

Suddenly Cole spoke up. “His friend had to die because he thought they were people. A slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf’s jaws.”

Varric looked up at him. “What was that, kid?”

Hawke looked quizzically at Fenris. “‘Sad wolf’? He can’t be talking about you.”

Fenris frowned at Cole. “No. I… I don’t believe so.” He couldn’t imagine what Cole was referring to if he was. Aside from the fog warriors, Fenris had never had any friends who had died. 

Solas looked at Cole. Cole blinked benignly, then wandered away. 

Solas turned back to face them once more. “Yes, Hawke, that is correct. The truth is more complex–”

“It seems we have a visitor,” a deep, rich, chilling voice said.

A rash of goosebumps ran down Fenris’s arms. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing throughout this entire section of the Fade. 

“What was that?” Stroud demanded. 

Suddenly Cole was beside them. “It knows,” he whispered. “Picking, prodding, pulling the pieces—” 

The loud, sinister voice spoke again. “Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fears where they lay, forgotten,” it said. “You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is _me._ ” 

The echoes of its voice slowly ebbed away, and Hawke laughed nervously. “One guess as to who _that_ is.”

Her fingers were tight on Fenris’s arm. He squeezed her hand. “Ignore it,” he said, with a pointed glare at the sky. “We know our goal. We’ll move on regardless.” 

“You could no more ignore me than ignore the terror that lives within your hearts,” the Nightmare said. “But perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” The demon laughed mockingly. “Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget, just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I.”

“No,” Cole whispered. He was almost pressed against Solas now, twisting his fingers together compulsively and looking far younger than his twenty-year-old appearance.

Hawke squeezed his arm. “Hey, don’t listen to it. Ignore it like Fenris said, all right?”

“It’s nothing like me,” Cole said. He looked desperately at Hawke. “I make people forget to help them. It _eats_ their fears.” He wrung his hands together. “I don’t know if I could do that, but I don’t. I don’t want to. That’s not me.”

“Relax, kid,” Varric said soothingly. “I don’t imagine anybody seeing much of you in the Nightmare.” He patted Cole’s elbow. “Sounds like it preys on fear. Stealing people’s memories. That’s low, even for a demon.”

Fenris frowned. Stealing people’s memories… but that _was_ what Cole had done before. Cole had taken Fenris’s bad dreams, sneaking them from his sleeping mind without Fenris’s permission. Did that mean…? 

No. Cole was helpful. He was part of the Inquisition. Solas had said he wouldn’t be corrupted unless he was stopped from helping people. But if he was helping people by taking away little pieces of their memories… 

“Fear is a very old, very strong feeling,” Solas said. “It predates love, pride, compassion… every emotion save perhaps desire.” He looked at each of them. “Be wary. The Nightmare will do anything in its power to weaken our resolve.”

Hawke wrapped her arm around Cole’s shoulders and squeezed him. “See?” she said encouragingly. “It’s just the Nightmare trying to bother you. Ignore it. Now come on, we need to keep going.” 

They continued along the convoluted pathways of the Fade, stepping over strange artifacts and bloodstained books and twisted, blackened bodies. Small groups of demons fell upon them while they made their way through the murky green mist of the Fade, but they dispatched the corrupted creatures with ease. 

Fenris gently pulled Hawke aside so they were walking behind the others. “This Nightmare creature. What it said about Cole,” he said quietly. “The way he helps… sometimes it is appropriate, but he does make people forget things.”

“He only makes people forget because they’re scared of him,” she replied in a quiet voice. “It’s not the same.”

“That is not the only thing he makes them forget,” Fenris murmured. “What if that is how it starts? Small memories of his presence. Or of fears that appear unreasonable. How do we know this is not how the Nightmare demon came to be?”

Hawke stopped and turned to face him. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “Cole helped _you_. You’ve been sleeping so much better since he’s been around. Besides, look at him.” She gestured surreptitiously at Cole, who was hovering between Solas and Varric while Solas solicitously patted his back. “You really think he could become like the Nightmare?”

“Fenris has a point,” Carver said over his shoulder. 

Hawke glared at him. “Nobody was asking _you_ ,” she said venomously. 

“Hawke,” Fenris said warningly.

She pressed her lips together, then turned to Carver once more. “So what, are we all going to start listening to everything the Nightmare says? Didn’t you hear what Solas said? It’s going to do everything to try and screw us over. We have to ignore it.”

As though on cue, the Nightmare’s voice filled the Fade. “Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. She came to Haven because of you. Fenris was almost killed because of you.”

Fenris looked sharply at Varric. He was sneering up at the sky. “Just keep talking, Smiley,” he growled.

Hawke shot Fenris and Carver another pointed look. “See? It’s a shitty distraction, nothing more.” She trotted away from them to walk beside Varric instead. 

Carver sighed. “I hate it here.”

“As do I,” Fenris said. “I feel unclean from the very atmosphere of this place.” He glared at the ugly green mist that hovered over everything. 

The Nightmare spoke again, but this time in incomprehensible Elvhen. “ _Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din._ ”

“ _Banal nadas,_ ” Solas retorted. 

The fine hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck were starting to rise. If this Nightmare creature was picking on all of them one by one, what was it going to say to Fenris? 

He scratched the back of his neck, then frowned at the air around them. The omnipresent green mist seemed to be thickening around their little group, almost like a fog rolling in.

“Watch out! Creepy shit up ahead,” Varric said sharply. 

They all grabbed their weapons at his warning. A moment later, they were set upon by a gaggle of abominations. 

Fenris shivered involuntarily, then flared his lyrium scars at the abominations to blast them back. He hacked and slammed at the filthy creatures, and a breathless minute later, they were all dead and dissipating back into the Fade. 

Carver sighed heavily as he replaced his sword on his back. “What was _that_ about?” he demanded. 

“Those were little fears,” Solas said. “Tiny manifestations spawned by the Nightmare itself.”

Hawke snorted. “And of course they look like giant maggots.”

They all looked at her in surprise. “You saw maggots?” Varric said. “I saw creatures corrupted by red lyrium.”

“Remember, we walk in the Fade,” Solas said. “Demons of fear shape their appearance to unnerve each of us.”

“Wonderful,” Varric said. He gave Solas a rueful look. “Remind me again why you like it here.”

Solas pursed his lips slightly. “I did not say I liked it _here_. Not all parts of the Fade are equal, just as Rivain and Tevinter are not one and the same.”

Varric huffed, then raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “Try to keep that in mind for the next time you bring us through a rift, huh? Let’s go somewhere more scenic next time.”

Fenris grunted. “That won’t happen. I will never be doing this again.”

The Nightmare’s terrible voice boomed out again. “Warden Stroud: how does it feel to devote your life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”

Stroud scowled. “With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast,” he announced.

“Yes,” Hawke said vehemently. “Like I said, kick some demon ass—” 

“Rynne Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall,” the Nightmare said thoughtfully. “Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t save your mother. You couldn’t save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family and everyone you ever cared about.”

Hawke laughed — a distinctly brittle laugh. “Fuck right off, won’t you?” She batted impatiently at the green mist and shifted closer to Fenris.

He took her outstretched hand, but he was starting to grow suspicious of the mist. It was steadily growing thicker around their party, almost to the point of obscuring the way ahead. 

He looked at Solas. “This green fog,” he said. “The Nightmare is manufacturing it to thwart our path?”

Solas opened his mouth to answer, but the Nightmare interrupted him. “And you, Fenris. The great Inquisitor. The man whose decisions shake the very nations of Thedas. The man whose decisions will bring Thedas to ruin.” The demon let out a mocking laugh. “You will be their villain someday. What will happen to Hawke when that day comes? Ah, how her hopes will crumble on the day she sees you fall.”

An aching sort of nausea started to roil in Fenris’s stomach. He glared at the sky. “ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” he spat, and he turned to face their party. “Let’s move,” he commanded. “The sooner we leave this cursed place, the better.” 

They began to run, stumbling slightly on the uneven terrain thanks to the cloying green mist. Fenris kept a firm hold on Hawke’s hand, ostensibly for balance, but in truth, he didn’t want to let her go. 

A few minutes later, the Nightmare spoke one last time. “Carver Hawke. Is that you? I almost didn’t see you standing behind your sister.”

Hawke’s fingers clenched against Fenris’s hand. The demon continued to speak. “The Champion is correct,” it said. “Perhaps you should have stayed in Kirkwall. When you die for the Inquisition, nobody will remember you were ever here.” 

Carver didn’t respond. A long, tense moment later, Hawke looked over her shoulder at him. “Carv—” 

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Hawke bit her lip, then turned away. They continued to run in silence through the green mist for another minute. 

“Ah!” Stroud exclaimed, and Fenris almost ran right into him as he abruptly halted. 

“What on–” Fenris looked up. The Divine was back, and the roiling tendrils of green mist parted around her as they drew close. 

She smiled at them all, but her eyes seemed sad. “The Nightmare preys on you all,” she said. “I am sorry for your pain. But I have found these.” She held out her hands to Fenris. 

Her palms were filled with glimmering golden light, and he reached for the light without hesitation. The faster he took the memories back, the faster they could leave. 

The memories burst to life from her palms, but Fenris was prepared this time for the band of pressure around his head as the memories played themselves out: he and the Divine climbing an impossibly steep pillar followed by dozens of those filthy abomination-fears… running for the rift, but Justinia was being dragged back down… Fenris trying to grab her, but her fingers slipping through his own as she yelled for him to _run_...

He blinked hard, then opened his eyes. He’d fallen to his knees during the remembering, and his thoughts felt jumbled together once again, but one fact was clear.

He pushed himself to his feet and faced Justinia – the false Justinia. “You died,” he said. “The Inquisition, everyone, they… they thought they saw Andraste behind me in the Fade, but it was you.”

Her expression distinctly sad now, and her eyes were bright – not with tears, but with a golden glimmering light. She bowed her head, and the glow of her eyes seemed to take over her face, then her body… 

Fenris squinted against the brightness. When he looked at her once again, she was… 

“A spirit,” Stroud said. He seemed disappointed. “This creature is simply a spirit.”

“You don’t say,” Hawke drawled.

The spirit-Divine tilted her – _its_ – head. “I am sorry if I disappoint you,” it said to Stroud.

He sighed and sadly bowed his head. Hawke, however, was eyeing the Divine with her usual bold curiosity. 

“So are you a spirit pretending to be the Divine, then?” she asked. “Or are you her… er… soul?” She wrinkled her nose slightly at the religious connotation.

“Our world is never that simple,” the spirit-Divine said. “What if the answer is none of those things? Or all of them? I am what the Maker made me.”

Hawke huffed noncommittally and folded her arms. Fenris eyed the spirit thoughtfully. “If you are a spirit that believes in the Maker…” He trailed off before finishing his thought, unsure if he should voice the heretical question hovering at the tip of his tongue: _does the Maker actually exist?_

The answer would clarify a lot of things. It would help determine whether Corypheus’s tale of storming the Black City was accurate, and it would inform them about how to deal with the evil magister. 

But Fenris also just wanted to _know_. He’d visited the Chantry in Kirkwall, and he’d tried praying a few times with Sebastian, but he’d never really been able to decide where he fell on the gradient of Andrastian faith. He rather envied Cassandra’s unshakeable faith and the way she drew comfort from the Maker, but he also envied Hawke’s atheism and the sense of freedom it seemed to bring her. If this spirit was able to tell them the truth about the Maker’s existence… 

He swallowed hard. What if the Maker _didn’t_ exist? What would the implications be for the entire Andrastian faith?

What would he tell Cassandra when they returned to the real world?

Fortunately – or unfortunately, perhaps – Carver spoke up before Fenris could ask the question. “So that proves it, right? The Divine died because of the Wardens helping Corypheus.” 

Hawke groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “Maker’s fucking balls, Carv…” 

“As I said,” Stroud said loudly, “the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus.”

“Only after they decided to help him of their own free will,” Carver said. 

“The mistake was Commander Clarel’s,” Stroud said. He was starting to look angry now. “The orders were hers. The Wardens cannot be blamed for doing their duty.”

Carver folded his arms. “They can if their duty was a bad one.”

“Oh, like _you_ should talk,” Hawke suddenly snapped. “Mister ‘I listen to Meredith even though she’s a paranoid mess’. You should be more sympathetic to the Wardens! You and the bloody Templars did the same thing in Kirkwall!”

“I _knew_ you hadn’t let that go!” Carver yelled. “If you think I’m being a hypocrite, then you’re a hypocrite too!” He waved angrily at Stroud. “You’re defending _him_ and you don’t even give the Templars the benefit of the doubt? You’re so biased against Templars that you let them all die!”

She wrinkled her nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she demanded.

“The red Templars!” he shouted. His neck was starting to flush. “Cassandra told me how you ran into them in Val Royeaux. You knew something was weird about them, and you ignored it! You just let them all get taken over by Corypheus, and now they’re as good as dead.” 

Fenris frowned. Why was Carver blaming Hawke for that?

Her face was slack with disbelief. “Wha… you’re not serious,” she said faintly. “That wasn’t… we didn’t _ignore_ them. We couldn’t get to them in time!”

Carver snorted. “So you had enough time to go running around picking up the Red Jennies, but not enough time to go and help the entire Templar Order.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Hawke said heatedly, but her face was growing pale, and Fenris knew why; he’d seen the dark blighted future, after all. The future where Hawke blamed herself for Fenris’s pursuit of the mages instead of the Templars. The future where Hawke had given up hope…

He stepped slightly in front of her. “That was not Hawke’s decision,” he told Carver firmly. “It was mine. _I_ chose to go to Redcliffe to investigate the mages. That was not Hawke’s fault.”

He clenched his jaw. “It — that’s not — come on, Fenris, I know she had something to do with it,” he complained. “You always defend her—”

“And _you_ always see the worst in me!” Hawke shouted. “You think I’m careless and stupid and that it’s my fault Mother died, don’t you?”

Carver threw his hands up in frustration. “What does that have to do with anyth—” 

“You probably think it was my fault that Bethany died too,” she accused. 

Fenris squeezed her hand, but she was too busy glaring at Carver to notice. Her voice was echoing through the Fade, echoing despite the thickness of the sickly green mist that surrounded them, and Carver’s scowl was worried now rather than angry. 

“No I don’t,” he said loudly. “That ogre killed Bethany. What Mother said–”

She waved her hand haphazardly. “Oh come now, Carv, don’t hold back. If you’re going to blame me for things, don’t do it halfway. It’s probably my fault too that Gamlen’s a drunk and that the Arishok came to Kirkwall and that Anders blew up the fucking Chantry—” 

“You must stop this,” Solas said sharply. “Now.”

They all turned to look at him. He was frowning: not at them, but at the mist. 

He turned to face them — to face Fenris, specifically. “You asked about this mist,” he said. “It is not manufactured by the Nightmare. It is…” He sighed. “It — _they_ — are spirits. Wisps. Barely sentient, but alive nonetheless. They live in this part of the Fade, reflecting what they see, and… they are attracted to us. The longer we remain here, the stronger they grow, and the more dangerous they may become.”

Fenris instantly understood. “They are feeding off of us,” he said. He glared at the malevolent green cloud. “They are eating our fear.”

“Yes,” Solas said sadly. 

Hawke gaped at him, then sighed loudly and dragged her hands through her hair. “Shit.”

“Hey!” Varric’s voice suddenly rang out. “A little help over here?”

It sounded like he was about fifty paces away, but Fenris couldn’t see him through the thick green mist — or crowd of wisps, as it were. Regardless, they ran through the mist toward the sound of his voice.

He was crouched on the ground beside Cole, who was curled in a ball with his head buried in his arms. “No, no, no,” he whispered. “I can’t take it away, too much, too big, too deep, I can’t…”

Varric was patting Cole’s shoulder. “He’s not dealing so well with those,” he said gruffly. He pointed just behind them. 

Fenris looked. It was a graveyard — an enormous graveyard that spanned as far as Fenris could see before it disappeared into the evil green crowd of wisps. 

His stomach lurched. The nearest tombstones were inscribed with the names of their inner circle, and under each name was a word or a short phrase.

__________

COLE | DESPAIR  
---|---  
CASSANDRA | HELPLESSNESS  
SOLAS | DYING ALONE  
DORIAN | TEMPTATION  
BLACKWALL | HIMSELF  
  
Fenris swallowed hard. His stomach was writhing, and his heart was hammering in his ears, and it felt like he should look away. These tombstones were personal, they were… they were _private_. Extremely private. He shouldn’t be looking at them at all.

But he couldn’t look away. His eyes kept skipping over the tombstones, picking out their companions’ names and their terrible epitaphs, unwittingly searching even though he didn’t want to see them...

________

THE IRON BULL | MADNESS  
---|---  
VARRIC | BECAME HIS PARENTS  
SERA | THE NOTHING  
CARVER | INSIGNIFICANCE  
  
He froze. His wayward eyes had finally found the tombstones he dreaded most. 

____

FENRIS  | SUBMISSION  
---|---  
RYNNE  | GUILT  
  
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t let Hawke see these.

He stumbled back and bumped into Solas, who was standing just behind him. They locked eyes for a moment – just long enough for Fenris to notice how utterly neutral he looked – then strode over to Hawke’s side.

She was hugging Cole. “Buck up, all right? We can’t stay here,” she said urgently. “We have to get moving.” She batted roughly at the mist, which was particularly thick around Cole’s head.

He lifted his face from his arms. His pale blue eyes were huge in the pallor of his face. “What if it’s right?” he asked. “Sweeping away the dirt, smoothing out the roughness, smoother and softer than before, but where do they go?” He stared pleadingly at Hawke. “What if they’re kept, claimed, kindling inside of me when I didn’t mean for them to stay?”

“No,” Hawke said loudly. “You’re good, Cole. You’re not like this fucking Nightmare beast, all right? You’re nothing like it.” She squeezed him encouragingly. “We’re going to get out of here, and you’re going to float around Skyhold making everyone feel better and sleep better because _that’s_ what you do.” She gripped his arm and stood, pulling him upright with her, and she glared around at all of them. “We’re going to kill this fucking Nightmare demon, and we’re going to go back to Skyhold and throw a huge party to celebrate. Right?”

Stroud nodded sharply, and Varric patted her elbow. “I like your thinking, Hawke.”

She shot him a quick smile, then reached out and took Fenris’s hand. “Ready?” 

He squeezed her fingers. “Yes,” he said.

“You must hurry,” the spirit-Divine said. “The Nightmare knows where you are.”

They turned around. The spirit was hovering just behind them and emitting a soft golden light – the only warm thing in this grim and darkened place. 

“Lead us away from here,” Fenris commanded. 

She bowed her lambent head, then floated away along another twisting path, and their whole party hurried in her wake. 

Hawke was still holding his hand. “What was it?” she panted.

“What was what?” Fenris said. 

“The thing that set Cole off,” she said. “Whatever it was that scared him. What was it?”

“It… nothing,” Fenris said cagily. “Nothing worth discussing right now.” 

She frowned, but she couldn’t press him on the issue: their path ahead was blocked by two enormous pride demons and an entourage of lesser demons as well. 

Fenris released her hand and pulled his greatsword from his back, then clenched his fist to bring his lyrium marks to life. He turned to Hawke. “Remember–”

She clasped the back of his neck and kissed him, then released him and cast a barrier over him. “Go,” she said. 

He nodded once, then bolted toward the nearest pride demon. Stroud was beside him with his sword and shield in hand, and they split apart as they approached the demons, Fenris swinging heavily at one demon while Stroud lunged at the other. 

Carver attacked the same demon as Stroud while Varric shot volley after volley of bolts at Fenris’s demon from afar. Solas and Hawke kept the smaller demons at bay with a flurry of magic, and Cole darted among them all, appearing and disappearing with precise strikes of his blades only to appear again in a completely unexpected place. 

Fenris hamstringed his demon, then cleaved off one of its arms with a well-placed swing. Then Solas sent a projectile of pure magic at the demon, and it stumbled back with a frustrated shriek. 

Fenris looked at it in surprise; usually it took more than one magical strike to knock a pride demon back, but… but perhaps Solas and Hawke’s magic was stronger since they were in the Fade. A direct source of power, perhaps? 

He turned briefly to look at her. Her face was a picture of serious concentration, and she was spinning her staff as gracefully as always. But her fireballs seemed to glow brighter and her ice appeared more paralyzing as it crawled over her foes. With a flick of her wrist, she froze a rage demon in place, and Cole appeared just behind it and shattered it to a hundred pieces with a forceful strike of his daggers. 

Fenris dodged away from the pride demon’s one remaining hand, then studied the flickering mark on his own palm. It looked more livid than usual, more active, and… well, if they were here in the Fade, and his mark had been made for this place…?

He dodged the demon’s swinging fist again, then yelled at Carver. “Cover me!” 

Carver nodded, then ran over and took Fenris’s place, and Fenris hurriedly stepped back and raised his hand overhead. He dragged in a deep breath, then mentally shoved all of his will into the mark on his hand. 

Pure unshaped magic poured from his palm, filling the sky above them with blinding green light. The demons around them howled and writhed in pain, and a long, noisy minute later, all but one pride demon had dissipated into mist. 

Fenris bolted toward the remaining demon and phased his fingers through its enormous heaving chest. There were no organs there, no bones or flesh to grasp, so Fenris pressed his focus into his lyrium-lined fist.

The demon’s chest exploded into immaterial vapour. It released a final squall of rage, then melted into nothing.

Fenris lowered his hand, then looked around at them all. “Is everyone well?” he demanded. 

They all murmured their reassurances. Hawke smiled at him. “Nice exploding effect there,” she said. “Very flashy. I bet Dorian would be impressed.”

Fenris huffed. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell him. I will never hear the end of it.”

Hawke chuckled for the first time in what felt like ages, and Fenris smiled. _Venhedis,_ he’d missed hearing her sounding happy. 

“We have done well,” Solas said. 

Fenris looked at him, and he gestured at the air with a faint smile. 

The clear, un-misty air. Fenris exhaled slowly. “The wisps are gone,” he said. 

“For now,” Solas said. “We should hurry. Real or not, the Divine is the key to escaping the Fade.” 

Fenris nodded, and they continued to follow the Divine’s glimmering form as it drifted ahead of them. 

Then the Nightmare spoke again, but its voice sounded rougher than before. “Do you think you can fight me?” it demanded. “I am your every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me.”

“Ah,” the Divine crooned. “So if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, ‘every fear come to life’.”

The Nightmare roared in frustration. The sound reverberated threateningly through the Fade, vibrating through the air and the ground beneath their feet, but Fenris didn’t care; they’d just been handed the exact piece of information they needed: the knowledge of how to strip Corypheus of his demon army.

“Thank you,” he said to the spirit-Divine. 

“Yes, thanks – that’s fantastic!” Hawke said. She poked Solas’s arm as they continued to run. “And _you_ said we shouldn’t wait around for a helpful spirit.”

“A _sarcastic_ helpful spirit to boot,” Varric added. “That was a nice burn on the demon there.” He shot the spirit-Divine an approving look. “Didn’t know spirits could _be_ sarcastic.”

“My apologies, Varric,” Solas said. “I have been remiss if I have forgotten to tell you of the spirits of humour I’ve encountered in my travels.”

Hawke gaped at him. “You never mentioned any spirits of humour to me!” 

Solas smiled faintly at her. “Perhaps I thought you would never ask me about anything else if I did.”

She laughed and punched him playfully in the arm. All the while, the Divine’s peaceful glowing form continued to lead them forth, up another set of stairs flanked by enormous Tevinter statues and through a dank cavern filled with yet more intangible water, until finally they saw what they’d been seeking.

“The rift!” Stroud exclaimed. “Thank the Maker.”

It was indeed the rift — but there was a problem.

An enormous, hideous, _monstrous_ problem.

“M-maker’s mercy,” Carver breathed. “What is _that?_ ” 

“The Nightmare,” Solas said quietly. 

Hawke shivered. “It’s got maggots all over it,” she complained. “I hate maggots.”

Varric grimaced. “I think those are eyes, actually.”

“That’s even worse somehow!” Hawke exclaimed.

Fenris curled his lip. “It won’t stop us,” he growled. “Not when we are this close.”

“Allow me to help, Inquisitor,” the spirit-Divine said. “I will draw its focus while you and your companions make your escape. Get through the rift, and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

Fenris bowed slightly to her. “Thank you, Justinia.” 

“No thanks are needed,” she said kindly. “Corypheus and the Nightmare do an injustice to the world, and you must stop them. Perhaps you were meant to stop them. Perhaps that is why I’m here.” 

“A noble purpose,” Solas said softly. 

Hawke was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. “All right, all right, good plan, now let’s get going!” 

They moved closer to the mouth of the cavern. The spirit-Divine rose away from them, then turned back one more time. “If you would, please tell Leliana: ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too.’”

Fenris frowned slightly, but nodded in assent. The spirit-Divine smiled serenely, then flew into the air and directly at the Nightmare’s enormous many-eyed face.

There was a blinding flash of light and a piercing bellow of agony. “Go!” Fenris bellowed.

They all bolted out of the shelter of the cavern and toward the verdant promise of the rift. But before they could reach it, a hideous, sepulchral creature appeared in front of them. 

It was eight feet tall with a multitude of jointed limbs and a mouthful of rotten pointed teeth. Before Fenris could move to grab his sword, the creature flashed toward him. 

It moved with an unnatural speed – more quickly even than Fenris or Cole. Fenris hastily pressed his focus into the marks on his skin, then grunted in pain as one of the creature’s many limbs slammed into his belly. 

“Back off!” Hawke snarled, and a moment later, her barrier sprang into place over their entire group.

Fenris grabbed his sword. “Take it down,” he bellowed. Half a second later, a fresh batch of abominations was loping toward them. 

Solas made a brisk pulling motion, and a handful of the creatures went up in flames. Then a loud and chilling peal of laughter filled Fenris’s ears – a peal of laughter that emanated from everywhere but the creature in front of them. 

“You think you can slay _me_?” the Nightmare taunted. “I am everywhere. I see your every fearful thought and your every restless dream. I see your doubts, Fenris,” it said. 

Fenris ignored it. He whirled his sword in a huge arc, cutting down a half dozen faux-abominations before phasing toward the creature and lopping off two of its insectoid limbs. 

The Nightmare continued to talk. “I see your mistakes. They fester in your mind, growing larger with every day that passes by. Such delicious fears you have, Inquisitor, and I can’t decide which ones will nourish me the most.” 

He clenched his jaw and fought with increasing ferocity, phasing around and through the creature, ripping off its limbs one by one, but the limbs kept coming back and the teeth he smashed from its mouth kept regenerating. 

_The Fade,_ he thought. It was the Fade. A complex creature of the Fade could shape its reality to suit its will…

Fenris snarled, and the Nightmare laughed. “I will feed well tonight on the contents of your mind. You are haunted by the decisions you have made and the problems they will bring. You are haunted by the magic that beats in your very blood. You are haunted by Hawke’s dead face, her dead eyes, her dead and blackened lips–”

“Shut your mouth!” Fenris roared, and he flung his cursed palm toward the creature and pushed his focus out–

It grabbed his wrist and hauled him close. Its many limbs crushed him in toward its chest and crushed the breath from his lungs. Its putrid breath rippled wetly across his face, and Hawke’s scream rang in his ears. 

“ _Fenris!_ ” 

An arc of lightning tore through the sky toward them. The creature stumbled, and Fenris stumbled with it. Its limbs went lax around his body, and he pushed his focus into his lyrium scars and lashed out with all his strength.

The creature stumbled back, and a cage of pure white light appeared around it: Hawke’s magical cage, her most powerful work of magic, and one she’d used to entrap both the Arishok and Orsino. 

It was also the one spell that drew on her mana the most.

She ran toward him, and he noticed with concern that her face was streaked with tears. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one the Nightmare had been torturing.

“Let’s kill this bastard,” she said viciously. 

“Gladly,” Fenris growled. He held out his left palm once more and poured a stream of magic straight at the creature’s head. A moment later, its head exploded with a glorious wet burst of ichor and ghostly vapour, and the creature’s body fell to the ground. 

The Nightmare bellowed in rage, and Fenris ignored it as he looked around. Solas and Stroud were still on their feet, but their faces were pale and drawn – the work of the Nightmare’s taunts, he was sure. 

Carver and Cole were crouching beside Varric, who was lying on his side with his arm wrapped around his bleeding abdomen, and a jolt of panic pierced Fenris’s belly at the sight. 

“Varric!” Hawke yelled. She and Fenris ran to his side. She dropped her staff with a clatter, then held her palms over his belly and began muttering to herself. 

Green healing magic began pouring from her palms. Solas threw a cautionary barrier over them, and Fenris tensely watched the Nightmare as she worked. It was moving feebly; it had clearly been incapacitated by the divine-Spirit’s explosive effect, but it was just as clearly very much alive. 

He looked down at Varric and Hawke, then breathed a sigh of relief: Varric’s colour was already returning, and his rapid breathing had evened out. A minute later, he sat up straight, and Hawke exhaled heavily before opening her eyes. 

She patted Varric’s cheeks nervously. “Are you okay?” she demanded. 

He squeezed her knee. “I’m good, Hawke. Really,” he assured her. “Thanks for the boost.”

She exhaled again, then smiled as Varric helped to pull her to her feet. “Anytime,” she said. “Can’t let anything happen to my favourite author, you know.”

Her voice was shaking, and Fenris noted with growing alarm that her hands were shaking too. Their whole group was haggard with fear and strain, but Hawke looked worse than the others, and Fenris knew why: she was close to being overextended, even with the raw power of the Fade. 

He cast another worried look at the Nightmare. It was stirring more fitfully now. 

He wrapped an arm around Hawke’s waist and began pulling her toward the rift. “We must leave this cursed place. Right now,” he ordered.

“No argument here,” Varric said, and they all began hurrying toward the rift as quickly as they could. But Fenris was worried: Hawke’s feet were dragging, and he was carrying most of her weight… 

“Fenris,” she said, and his heart rate spiked with fear: her speech was slightly slurred with fatigue. 

He looked at Solas. “Do you have any lyrium?” he demanded. 

“Yes, of course,” Solas panted. He began to rifle through his pockets as they ran. 

Another loud, raucous peal of laughter rippled through the air, and a moment later – far faster than should have been possible, far faster than was fucking _fair_ – the Nightmare itself was in front of the rift and blocking their way. 

Fenris’s roiling stomach dropped in despair. Half of the Nightmare’s monstrous face was burnt and dripping with black ichor from the spirit-Divine’s attack, but its gigantic limbs were grasping and reaching toward them – so many limbs, enough to grab Fenris and Hawke every one of their companions…

Then a cage of white light appeared – an enormous, flickering cage that entrapped the entire Nightmare within its bars. 

Fenris stared at Hawke in horror. Her face was twisted with fatigue and rage, and her right hand was stretched toward the Nightmare, holding the cage and the creature both in place. 

He tightened his arm around her waist. “Rynne, you can’t do this,” he barked. “Stop–”

“Fucking _run_ already, would you?” she hissed. “I can’t hold this damned thing forever. I’m impressive, sure, but I’m not _that_ impressive.”

Then Carver darted forward and thrust both his hands in the Nightmare’s direction. “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” he prayed.

A bloom of brilliant white light exploded from his palms and blasted the Nightmare back. Carver glanced at Fenris, his hands still lit with the power of his faith. “Go!” he yelled. “Get her through the rift!”

“No,” Hawke protested. “Carv, I can hold it back, you don’t have to–”

“Maker’s bloody mercy, Rynne, you look like shit, all right?” he snapped. “Just go. I’m right behind you!”

She tried weakly to reach for him. “Carver–”

The Nightmare bellowed with fury. Fenris scooped her into his arms and ran, chased by the Nightmare’s howls of rage. The rift was close now: twenty yards away, now ten, and now five…

Cole was through the rift, and so was Stroud. Then Solas was through and Varric too, and Fenris and Hawke were a step away from safety –

“Carver!” Hawke cried. 

Fenris glanced over his shoulder, then faltered to a stop. Hawke’s cage of light had disappeared, and the Nightmare was clutching Carver in three of its spider-like limbs. 

Hawke squirmed weakly in Fenris’s arms. “Put me down, put me down, he needs me!” she begged.

“No,” Fenris snapped. “I – you can’t, Hawke, your mana–”

“Put me down!” she screamed. “I have to help him, I have to, he’s my – _please!_ ”

“Fenris!” Carver called. 

Fenris looked up at him. He was holding his sword in both hands, and his face was twisted with fatigue and rage. He looked exactly like Hawke: determined and fierce and _strong_. 

“Take care of her,” he yelled. As Fenris watched, his sword lit up with the signature light of his Templar powers, and he swung the blade into the Nightmare’s face. 

The Nightmare shrieked with agony. Fenris ran the last few steps to the rift, and Hawke’s screams drilled into his brain as he stepped through the rift and left the Fade behind.

He stumbled to one knee with Hawke still in his arms. Without releasing her, he shakily pushed himself to his feet, then reached his left hand toward the malevolent writhing rift. 

He hesitated for a moment. What if… could they leave it open, just for a few minutes more, just to see–?

A demon suddenly slipped through the rift, and Fenris flinched in surprise before lashing it with a blast of lyrium-powered energy. 

Then Solas was beside him. “Fenris,” he said gently. “It must be sealed.”

Fenris swallowed hard. Then he pushed his focus into his left palm. 

Finally, at long last, the cursed rift of Adamant Fortress began to close. Fenris pulled on it strongly, dragging it into his palm until it disappeared with a loud _thwomp_ of pressure. 

The nearby Inquisition soldiers and Wardens broke into raucous cheering. Hawke pressed her face to his shoulder, and Fenris wrapped his arms around her tightly. 

He pressed his cheek to hers. “Hawke,” he rasped. “I… Rynne, I’m–”

She shook her head sharply, then disentangled herself from his arms and turned away. She ran her shaking hands through her hair, her fingers gripping at the roots until her knuckles went white, and Fenris watched her with an agonizing throbbing in his chest and throat. 

Solas offered her a flask of lyrium, but she waved him off. “Unless that’s Antivan brandy, I don’t need it,” she said. “In fact, I’ll take a bathtub of brandy if you’ve got one.” She looked up at Fenris. “We should ask Josie to install a bath in our bedroom. I think a brandy-filled bathtub is a fixture fitting for the Inquisitor, don’t you?”

She was smiling. Smiling so determinedly with those raspberry-red lips that he loved so much, cracking jokes like they were going out of style, and her coppery eyes were brimming with tears.

Fenris dragged in a painful breath and opened his mouth, but she waved her hand dismissively and laughed. “All right, fine, no bathtub. Maybe just a bucket of brandy, then. But hopefully not the same bucket that Blackwall used to cover his bits when _you_ beat him at diamondback,” she said to Solas. She elbowed Solas in the ribs. “You never told me about that, either. I had to hear it from _him!_ And I thought you and I were friends.” 

Her tone was sunny and warm and distinctly thick with tears. Fenris took a step closer to her, but before he could speak, Cullen strode toward them with the rest of their companions at his heels.

“Fenris!” he exclaimed. His expression was an odd mixture of grim satisfaction and relief as he shook Fenris’s hand. “Thank the Maker you’re safe. Whatever you did, it seems to have worked. The remaining Warden mages are free of Corypheus’s control, and those who weren’t corrupted helped our forces to fight the demons.”

“Oh good,” Hawke said. She sat down on the ground and finally accepted Solas’s offer of lyrium. “I’d hate to think we took that little stroll through the Fade for nothing.”

Cullen smiled distractedly at her before turning to Fenris. “The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive – I thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.”

Fenris nodded in silence, then glanced at Hawke again. Varric and Cole and Solas were hovering around her, and she was smiling still, smiling and sipping her lyrium and smiling some more… 

Cullen frowned. His eyes darted over their assembled party. “Where is Ser Carver?”

Hawke’s smile slipped. Varric squeezed her shoulder, and the pain in Fenris’s chest swelled even further. 

He turned to Cullen. “Carver took on the most powerful fear demon in the Fade,” he said. “He remained in the Fade to guard us against the vile creature. He is the reason we are alive.”

Cullen’s face fell in shock. There was a murmur of shock and dismay and veneration among the people in the main hall, and many of them turned to look at Hawke, who was still sitting on the ground.

She wrestled her smile back in place, then slowly rose to her feet. “He was a good Templar,” she announced. “A good… a good man.” She nibbled her lip, then smiled once more before turning away and slipping through the crowd and out of the main hall. 

Varric shot Fenris a quick worried look, then followed her with Cole close behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw an anxious-looking Dorian easing his way through the crowd in the direction that Hawke had gone.

Fenris breathed carefully through the swollen lump in his throat. Then Stroud spoke up. “Inquisitor, the Wardens stand ready to help, if you will have us,” he said. “Corypheus is one of the creators of darkspawn, and our mortal enemy.” He lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. “We would be honoured to aid the Inquisition in your efforts.”

Fenris hesitated. His ears were still ringing with the Nightmare’s taunt and the sound of Hawke’s desperate pleas to help her brother, and he was supposed to make a decision _now_ about the fate of every Grey Warden in Orlais?

He was half inclined to deny them. Solas and Carver weren’t wrong; blind obedience was dangerous, and there was no guarantee that the Grey Wardens couldn’t be corrupted again by some sort of Venatori plot. But if Stroud was the one in charge, perhaps the Wardens would be different…? 

Fenris rubbed a hand over his face. He refused to do this now. He dropped his hand to his side and looked at Stroud. “ _You_ have proven yourself incorruptible by Corypheus’s manipulations, but I cannot speak for the rest of your men.” He shook his head slightly. “I need time to think. Return to Weisshaupt for now. I will contact you when we return to Skyhold.”

Stroud nodded, then rose to his feet. “Maker watch over your Inquisition. We will await your word.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Please pass my condolences on to Hawke. Her brother was a courageous man.”

Fenris nodded silently and watched as the Grey Wardens began to file out of the hall. Then Cullen raised his voice to address the gathered soldiers. “The Inquisitor thwarted Corypheus’s plan and removed his demon army from his grasp. This is a victory for the Inquisition!” He raised his sword in the air, and there was a fresh wave of cheering and hooting and applause.

Fenris forced himself not to flinch at the undeserved praise. This wasn’t a victory. Corypheus may have been thwarted, but Fenris had failed. 

He’d left Carver behind. It was his fault that Carver was gone, and Hawke knew it too.

He thought of her brief and brittle smile, and the lump in his throat almost choked him. The Inquisition’s people were cheering, singing victory songs and drinking from flasks they’d pulled from their belts or bottles they’d found in the fortress’s cellars, but Fenris couldn’t find the strength to maintain the mask of a smile right now. 

Cullen rested a hand on his shoulder. His face was creased with concern. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “For _our_ loss – Carver was a good Templar, a… a good man in a fight. I… will Hawke be all right? He… Maker’s breath, her whole family…” 

He trailed off awkwardly, and Fenris took a deep breath. “I must find her now,” he said. “Excuse me.”

“Of course,” Cullen said hurriedly. He squeezed Fenris’s shoulder, and Fenris began to pick his way through the ebullient crowd. 

The celebration thinned out as he moved farther from the main hall. There were bodies and the grisly evidence of dead demons out here on the parapet, and the grim sight was more fitting for his current mood. 

“Fenris.” Dorian hurried over, his eyebrows lifted with worry. 

“Where is she?” Fenris asked. 

Dorian nodded his head to the left, and Fenris followed him. “She found a wine cellar,” Dorian said. “Well, more of a wine closet, really.”

 _Kaffas,_ Fenris thought sadly. He nodded. “She and Varric are telling stories, I take it.”

“However did you guess?” Dorian said in mock surprise. “It’s, er… well, they are quite amusing, actually; I wouldn’t complain if they kept it up. They’re quite the two-man show. Well, two-person, I suppose.” He smirked, but the smirk didn’t hide his worry. “Cole isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He might have a nervous fit if she keeps ignoring him.”

Fenris nodded again. They wove their way through the fortress, and a couple of minutes later, they found the wine cellar Dorian had mentioned.

The walls were lined with shelves bearing dusty bottles. Hawke, Varric and Cole were seated on the dirty floor, and Hawke was waving a half-empty bottle and gesturing emphatically with her other hand. 

“... _that’s_ why he refused to learn how to use throwing knives, see?” she was saying. “Practicing a grip. Holding a blade in a firm grip…” She leaned toward Varric and held out one fist. “The _grip_ , Varric. Sebastian couldn’t even think about gripping anything without thinking he was cheating on Andraste.” 

Varric smirked and took the bottle from her. “I don’t know, Hawke. Choir Boy had a pretty steady grip on that bow of his.” He took a swig from the bottle.

Hawke snatched the bottle back. “Well, of course he did. That bow is his surrogate cock. In his mind, there can only be one. That was his problem.”

“Ooh, what _are_ we talking about?” Dorian drawled salaciously. “I believe we’ve appeared at just the right time.”

“Honestly, Sparkler, I have no idea anymore,” Varric drawled.

Hawke grinned at him and Dorian, then shifted her eyes to Fenris. 

She offered him the bottle, and he took it without speaking. She turned to Varric once more. “All I’m saying is that Dorian could easily learn throwing knives if he wanted to. He has no qualms about a strong grip on a number of weapons.” She winked at Dorian.

Dorian sat beside Cole and took an unopened bottle from Cole’s hands. “Weapons, is it?” he said as he cracked the bottle open. “I’m pleased to report that I am quite skilled with staves of a number of sizes.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully and took a gulp of wine.

Hawke cackled and elbowed Varric. “See? I rest my case.”

Fenris sipped from the bottle in his hands, then addressed Hawke. “I seem to recall _you_ having some difficulty learning to throw knives.”

She grinned at him. “Criticizing my weapons prowess, are you?” she purred. “You’ve never had any complaints about my grip before.” 

Dorian laughed, and Varric shook his head. “I guess no one would believe me if I said I really _did_ mean Bianca’s grip when we started talking about this,” he said wryly.

Hawke patted his shoulder. “Of course did you, Varric. Of course you did.” 

Fenris managed a smirk as he sat between Cole and Hawke. Hawke started poking fun at Dorian, and Cole turned to Fenris. “It hurts her to laugh,” he whispered. “Smiling to stash it away, push it back, push it down, if they can’t see it then it isn’t there…”

“I know,” Fenris muttered. “I… I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cole told him. “It’s what he chose. He wanted her safe.”

Fenris felt like a lead weight had settled in his chest. He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank the final dregs of the vile booze within, then placed the empty bottle on the ground. “Cole, you can… I will handle this,” he said. “Many people were injured today. Many soldiers lost their comrades. Go help them.”

Cole nodded and started to rise, but Fenris stopped him before he could go. “Do not rob them of their memories,” he said, very quietly. 

Cole hesitated, then nodded again. “I won’t,” he said, and he drifted out of the small room just as Blackwall and Sera came in. 

Blackwall’s expression was twisted with sympathy. “Lady Rynne,” he said. “I am… you have my sympathies—” 

She tutted. “Blackwall, how many times must I tell you? It’s just Hawke.” She waved enthusiastically for them to enter the small room. “Come in, both of you, come have some disgusting wine! Dorian was just about to tell us a fascinating tale about an illicit tavern he once visited in Qarinus…” 

Sera and Blackwall exchanged a quick glance. Then Sera snatched the nearest bottle from the shelf and hopped over Dorian’s head to sit beside Hawke. “Story! Story! Go on then, have a go.” She waved grandly for Dorian to continue. 

Dorian launched into some sordid tale involving an assassin dressed as a prostitute and a prostitute dressed as a Rivaini dancer. Hawke laughed gaily and playfully teased Blackwall and Sera, and Fenris faked a smile as Hawke joked and laughed and prompted everyone to share their best demon kills of the night. 

She cracked open a second bottle of wine, and Fenris watched with an aching heart as she drank half of it in five seconds flat. She was smiling still, complimenting everyone ostentatiously and prompting them to tell funny stories of things they’d done or seen before the Inquisition. By the time she’d finished the second bottle of wine, her right arm was curled around her middle, and she was scratching unconsciously at her left-side ribs – the side where the twisted lines of her tattoo curled across her skin.

Fenris swallowed hard. Her cheeks were flushed with drink, and her slightly-slurred voice was warm with humour, but her true feelings were clear from the compulsive scrape of her nails against her side. 

_Guilt._ The epitaph on her tombstone in the Fade... 

Fenris reached out and gently pulled her fingers away from her ribs. She glanced at him briefly before turning away to ask Blackwall another flirtatious question, but Fenris kept a hold of her hand, and he was slightly relieved when she didn’t pull it away from him. 

Some time later, when everyone but Fenris was deep in their cups, an Inquisition scout poked her head into the cellar. “Inquisitor,” she said timidly, “there are tents set up in the Fortress and on the grounds outside, if anyone should wish to sleep. We will be leaving for the Griffon’s Keep in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” Fenris said. He turned to Hawke. “Come,” he murmured. “We should rest.” He rose to his feet, carefully bringing Hawke with him as he stood. 

She mock-pouted as he pulled her to her feet. “Aw. Party’s over, everyone,” she hiccuped. She pointed at them threateningly as they reached the door. “To be continued when we get home! Herald’s Rest for drinks, yes?”

They raised their bottles and called out their assent, and Hawke gave Sera a sloppy kiss on the cheek and a playful tug to Blackwall’s beard before stumbling out of the cellar at Fenris’s side. 

She slung her arm around his neck. “Out to the tents!” she announced. “I demand a tent on the field outside. Don’t care if there’s blood and bodies everywhere – this fortress is about as appealing as a damp druffalo’s asshole. You couldn’t pay me to sleep in this fucking place.” She almost tripped over a pile of smoking rubble, then broke into laughter.

Her laughter was lazy and loud, and Fenris could hear the grief beneath it. Gently and carefully, he lifted her in his arms, just like he used to do in Kirkwall when she’d had too much to drink at the Hanged Man.

Just like he’d done tonight, when he’d dragged her out of the Fade and left her brother behind.

He pulled in a slow, measured breath. “Come on, Hawke,” he murmured. He carried her down the stairs in the direction of the fortress’s doors. 

Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck and toyed idly with the hair at his nape. “So strong and handsome,” she slurred. “You can carry me around anytime.” She gasped in excitement. “You know what we should do next time we find a dragon? Make it a pet,” she said. “Frederic will – _hic!_ – love that, pet dragons – such a good idea, don’t you think?”

He stepped over the splintered remains of the keep’s main doors and carried her out into the fresh night air. “Not your finest idea, no,” he said. 

She _tsk_ ed. “Have a little imagination, Fenris. Think of the mythology of it all! The Inquisitor riding one of Tevinter’s Old Gods like a common mount? The Venatori would shit themselves.” She laughed again, a bright and uncontrolled sort of laugh that carried them all the way to an unoccupied tent. 

He carefully set her on her feet, and she immediately dropped to her knees and crawled into the tent. Fenris hesitated for a moment, then crawled into the tent to join her.

She was sitting on a threadbare bedroll and trying unsuccessfully to remove her armour. “Fucking thing,” she muttered as she tried to unbuckle her chestplate. She looked up as Fenris crawled inside, then fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Care to undress me, husband dear?”

He couldn’t bring himself to smile. His chest was aching more than ever, swelling into an ugly mixture of guilt and regret that was clogging his throat. 

He shifted closer to her, and without speaking, he started divesting her of her armour. 

She continued to babble as he pulled her armour off. “Did you hear what Blackwall said about Krem? Apparently he jumped on top of a demon and cut its head off while he was on top of it. How badass is that?” She chuckled fuzzily. “I love the Chargers. Maybe Bull will let us join his squad after Coryphetits is dead. Honestly, I can think of worse things than fighting all day and drinking all night with Bull and Krem. I mean, that Grim fellow is rather… er, grim, but I think I could win him round, don’t you?” 

Fenris carefully set her boots aside, then reached out and took her face in his hands. “Hawke,” he said.

Her half-closed eyes drifted to his face. “Hm?”

He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Rynne, I…” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I haven’t the words for this sorrow,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t have… I–”

“Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t.”

He cradled her neck and gazed into her shimmering eyes. “He should have remained here,” he said. “I told him to come with us. If he had stayed with Cassandra instead–”

She shook her head and pried his hands away from her neck. “Stop it,” she said angrily. “I don’t want to – I can’t think about this.” She scratched idly at her ribs. “I can’t think about this right now, all right? Just give me a night to not think about this. Don’t let me have wasted all that wine.” She tried for a feeble imitation of a smile, then lay down on the bedroll and curled up on her side.

She was facing away from him. Fenris studied the curve of her back for a moment, then quietly removed his own armour until he was down to his tunic and leggings. When he looked at Hawke once more, she was scratching idly at her left shoulder blade. 

Fenris lay on his side behind her, then gently pushed her hand away. Slowly and delicately, he peeled her dirty cotton undershirt away from her shoulder, then tenderly pressed his lips to her tattooed skin. 

She lay silently as Fenris kissed her shoulder. He ran a soothing hand along her back, and still she lay silent and still.

He stroked her back for a minute more, then shuffled closer and tucked himself snugly against her back. He wrapped his arm around her and breathed quietly, feeling the rise and fall of her back against his chest as her warmth seeped through their shirts and into his skin. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, she took his hand and twined her fingers with his, pulling his arm more snugly around her waist, and Fenris exhaled slowly, a long and relieved release of breath. 

Then he realized she was shaking.

It was a slight tremor, as though she was shivering and trying to contain it so he couldn’t see. But her efforts to hide her tears – to hide them from _him_... 

A fresh wave of self-recrimination rendered him nauseous. He pulled her close against his chest, wrapping himself around her as tightly as he could, and she made a tiny choking noise: the smallest, most muffled sob he’d ever heard her make. 

He closed his eyes against the burn of tears. _Forgive me,_ he thought, but he didn’t say it. If Hawke didn’t want to speak of this tonight, he could give her that. 

He would give her anything she wanted, and anything she wanted would never be enough, because his decision – his _mistake_ – had taken Carver away from her. 

Fenris might be able to close rifts. He might be able to help bring order to this chaotic world. But no good deeds that he did would ever make up for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh. Please send me hugs, I'm fucking sad and everything sucks.
> 
> I'm [Sad Pika on Tumblr.](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Feel free to swing by if it strikes your fancy. xoxo


	28. Jagged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this slightly-late update!
> 
> I have more art that I want to share with you guys: some sweet (and naked!) post-coital FenRynne snuggles! Some tender lovin’ by [@lethendralis-paints](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/186027287617/pikapeppa-forever-and-a-day-fenris-rynne), and some more tender lovin’ by [@schoute](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/186080321118/ill-lift-you-when-youre-feeling-low-ill-hold)!

“What about the tongue thing?” Hawke asked Bull eagerly. “Isabela does this rolling tongue thing – oh, but I suppose it wouldn’t be the same for you.” She cast a thoughtful glance directly at his crotch. 

“Nah,” Bull said. “She did have nice tongue technique on other places, though. Like–”

“That’s all right,” Hawke interrupted. “I think I know where you mean, and I don’t need the details.” She snickered. 

Bull smirked. “You asked. But she asked me to tell you that I gave her the reins.”

Hawke barked out a laugh. “She asked you to tell me – wait. You mean…” Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in delight. “You’re talking about literal reins, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Bull said casually. “And a harness. She seemed to enjoy it.”

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “Isabela rode the Bull! Literally! _Literally_ literally, not just joking-literally. Oh, that’s wonderful. It’s marvelous. I adore it.” She elbowed Fenris playfully. “Did you hear–”

“I heard,” Fenris said patiently. “I think everyone on this side of Thedas heard.” 

She chuckled, then turned back to Bull to continue their salacious conversation. On Fenris’s other side, Cassandra frowned and leaned in slightly toward Fenris. “This does not bother you?” she asked quietly.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Why would it?”

“Well, they’re – they are singing the praises of…” She cleared her throat. “I am surprised, that’s all.”

Fenris shrugged. “Hawke and Isabela’s liaison was purely physical. I would even say their friendship is stronger because of it.” Then he gestured at Bull and Hawke. “Besides, they may as well be discussing fencing techniques for how sensual this is.”

Cassandra snorted softly, and they walked in silence for a moment. Then Cassandra spoke again. “Fencing can be, er, sensual.”

Fenris smirked at her. “What novels have _you_ been reading?”

Cassandra tilted her chin up in a dignified manner. “Yvette Montilyet may have recommended some titles to Josephine,” she said in a neutral tone. “And Josephine may have passed the recommendations on to me.”

“I see,” Fenris said, equally neutrally. “I expect a full report before our next strategy meeting, then.”

Cassandra smiled. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

They chuckled softly together, then segued into a peaceful silence again. Hawke and Bull were walking a short ways ahead now, and Fenris idly watched as Hawke playfully pushed Bull in the arm, inadvertently making herself stumble instead.

She’d been cheerful during their ongoing journey back to Skyhold. She spent the time bouncing between all their companions: goading Sera on in her attempts to rile Solas up, pulling Solas and Dorian into complicated discussions of magical techniques, asking Blackwall and Bull for war stories and putting a shiny heroic spin on their tales when they got too grim. She coaxed Cassandra into an in-depth discussion about _Swords and Shields_ and somehow managed to rope both Varric and Cole into the conversation as well without inciting an argument, and she flirted mercilessly with everyone. 

That was how Hawke spent the _days_ of their journey. 

The nights were different. When their long days of travel were done and they were in their tent alone, Hawke continued to chatter cheerfully to Fenris, but as soon as they lay down to sleep, she curled up on her side facing away from him. 

He’d resigned himself to curling up behind her, pulling her tight against his chest and trying to draw comfort from the fact that she still pressed herself back against him and twined her fingers with his. But the comfort was weak. Hawke was so still and tense, and Fenris knew her rigidity for what it was: a feeble smokescreen hiding the tears that bled silently into her pillow – tears she was still trying to hide from him. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. He had already made a second attempt at talking about Carver with her, on the second night of their trip. She’d been in the midst of polishing her staff and telling him about a ditty that Sera and Varric had started writing together.

“... so I suggested that they add a line about lizards in bedrolls, see? A little callback to that wonderful prank she pulled on Solas a few months back. And Solas was all, ‘you are being very childish,’ so of course Sera had to keep the line in.” She chuckled and inspected the head of her staff, then produced a very tiny wisp of frost before nodding in satisfaction and setting the staff aside. “Varric says it’ll probably be ready by the time we get back to Skyhold, so Maryden can sing it.”

Fenris nodded silently. Hawke smiled at him for a moment longer, then looked away. “Do you want to read some of this issue of the Randy Dowager to me?” she asked. “I stole it from the Griffon’s Keep. I’ll have to ask Josie how it got into the library in the first place—”

“Hawke,” Fenris said quietly. 

She kept talking. “... because if she stuck it in there herself, our Lady Ambassador is far more filthy-minded than I initially thought. In the best way, of course.”

Fenris took her hand. “Hawke,” he said more insistently. “We need to talk.” 

She laughed lightly. “We are talking, you handsome fool.”

She wasn’t looking him in the eye. He gently turned her face toward him. “ _I_ need to talk to you,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I am sorry. I… apologies are insufficient. The weight of this catastrophe–”

“Don’t,” she said. 

He ignored her soft protest and stroked her jaw. “If Carver had stayed with Cassandra in the main hall instead of accompanying us, he wouldn’t have… he would not have been left behind. And that was _my_ decision. I told him–”

She pushed his hand away from her face. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Just stop it, all right? Words and apologies and all that, they don’t change anything. I don’t need them.” She smiled slowly. “You know what I _do_ need, though?”

Her creamy tone of voice was clear. Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Hawke, please. I am being serious. I...”

He trailed off. Hawke’s shirt was off, pulled over her head and discarded in the blink of an eye, and she was leaning toward him provocatively. 

He kept his eyes on her face. “I know that words change nothing,” he said. “I just…” _I cannot bear this rift,_ he thought, but he didn’t want to say it. If he remarked on the slow-growing chasm between himself and Hawke, then it would make it real, and he desperately didn’t want it to be. 

Hawke crawled toward him slowly. “I need _you_ ,” she said. She sat back on her heels and began unlacing her bustier. 

Fenris longingly watched her busy fingers. Her words were something of a balm – a sweetened poison balm. Diverting pain into laughter and sex was Hawke’s modus operandi, and Fenris knew this distraction for what it was. But hearing her tell him that she needed him, even after what he’d done…

She tossed her bustier aside. She ran a thumb over the peak of one nipple and raised her eyebrow.

He tore his eyes back to her face. “We need to talk,” he said. 

She shook her head. “ _You_ need to talk. _I_ need you to fuck me.“ She shucked off her trousers and smalls and crawled onto his lap, straddling him and sliding her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. 

His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak. Her golden body was spread across his lap, naked and inviting, and her fingers were warm beneath his shirt, and this was the most contact they’d had in days. This was the most she had voluntarily touched him in _days_. Aside from the usual playful poke or pinch in public, and aside from their curling together at night, Hawke had stopped touching him as was her norm. She’d stopped holding his hand and kissing his cheek and pinching his chin in that fond little way of hers, and Fenris keenly noticed the absence of her touch — just as keenly as he was now noticing the subtle shifting of her hips beneath his palms and the petal-soft touch of her lips on his cheekbone. 

She tugged his earlobe between her lips. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

He finally found his tongue. “Hawke...”

She nipped his neck and then his lower lip. Her fingers curved over the gently-swelling bulge between his legs, and he stopped breathing. 

“Fuck me,” she said. 

So he did. Fenris fucked her hard, eagerly meeting every request from her whispering lips and her arching body, relishing in the firm stroke of her hands over his skin and tangling his tongue with hers to silence both their cries. 

And when it was over, Hawke rolled onto her side away from him, and the emptiness in his chest was an ache that the fragrant warmth of her naked body couldn’t burn away.

He was at a loss. He wanted desperately to fix the slowly-festering wound that seemed to be growing between them, but she’d never acted this way before. She always eventually dropped the humorous mask and talked. She’d never insisted this stringently on _not_ talking about something – at least not that Fenris knew. It was possible she’d behaved in a similar way when Leandra had died; he hadn’t been around as much as he should have in the week after Leandra’s death. It occurred to him now that he ought to ask Varric how Hawke’s behaviour had been during that one terrible week between her mother’s death and the Arishok’s assault on Kirkwall. 

“Fenris,” Cassandra said quietly, pulling him from his melancholy. “I wondered… Do you think Hawke would be comforted if… if I spoke to her of Anthony?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Would you be comfortable doing that?”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she slowly nodded. “Yes, I think so. I… it is difficult to speak of him, but… it is more difficult still to feel that you are alone in your grief.” 

Fenris nodded slowly. “I’m certain you are correct.”

Cassandra shot him a curious look. “Have you never lost anyone close to you?”

He shook his head. “Not that I remember. Not until now,” he said. “And even now, I… Carver and I were not as close as our connection to Hawke might imply. We saw him rarely back in Kirkwall, and even less after their mother died.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows tilted with sympathy. “That is unfortunate,” she said softly. “Anthony and I only grew closer after our parents’ passing.”

Fenris studied her from the corner of his eye for a moment before replying. “Cassandra, what happened to your brother?”

She gave him a small half-smile, then returned her gaze to the path ahead before speaking. “Anthony was a dragon hunter. He showed what a Pentaghast could truly be. I idolized him,” she said softly. “I wanted to hunt dragons as he did, even though our uncle forbade it. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old.” She smiled at Fenris in a self-deprecating way, then looked away once more. 

“He was renowned for his skill, and it turned out to be his downfall,” she went on. “A group of apostates wanted dragon blood, and they wanted Anthony to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. She licked her lips before going on. “I begged the Chantry to let me become a Templar. Instead, they sent me to the Seekers,” she said. She sighed. “It took years for me to let go of my drive for vengeance. At times, I could not breathe; the rage nearly choked me.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “I have known that anger myself, in a different form,” he said quietly. “It is… choking, as you said. Cloying. It occupies far more space than it has any right to fill.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Yes, that is… exactly what it is like. Or _was_ like, I suppose.” She sighed again and idly looked around at their surroundings. “I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if Anthony were still alive. Would I be a dragon hunter? Married to some noble fool, a mother of three? I cannot say.” She gave him a rueful half-smile. “I take solace in believing the Maker has a plan, but He is not always kind.”

Fenris half-heartedly returned her smile. Her words reminded him of the spirit-Divine they’d encountered in the Fade. He, Hawke, Varric and Solas had told Cassandra and the rest of their companions about their foray in the Fade, and he’d left it to Solas to explain about the spirit-Divine, but Fenris was still left wondering about the Maker.

He should have asked the spirit-Divine about the Maker’s existence while he had the chance. But in the grand scheme of things, what with Carver’s loss and Hawke’s determined and heartbreaking cheerfulness, it hardly felt important right now. 

He shook off the philosophical thoughts. “You _are_ a dragon hunter,” he told Cassandra. “You defeated dragons to save the divine Beatrix.”

Cassandra tutted. “That is hardly the same.”

“Then we will find a high dragon for you to defeat. In Anthony’s honour,” he suggested. “The dragon in Crestwood, for instance. It needs to be dealt with still. And Frederic can suggest where we might find others.”

She scoffed, but a smile was lifting her lips. “I hardly think dragon hunting is high on the Inquisition’s list of priorities.” 

“On the contrary,” Fenris said. “The more dragons we kill, the more practiced we will be to face Corypheus’s beast.”

Cassandra’s expression sobered. “That is true,” she said. She looked at him once more, and her expression was serious but warm. “Thank you, Fenris,” she said. “For your kindness.”

He nodded to her. “And to you, for yours,” he said. “I am not sure that Hawke will accept your sympathy without turning to humour instead, but you are more than welcome to try.” _Perhaps she will actually speak to you,_ he thought, with a shameful pang of self-pity. 

Cassandra smiled. “I will. I hope I can bring her some comfort. As you have brought to me,” she added with a nod.

Fenris smiled, but with another secret pang of sadness. At least he was able to comfort _someone_ about the loss of their brother.

They continued their trek back to Skyhold. Hawke continued to smile and laugh and coax the whole group into lively conversation, and Fenris continued to watch her easy smile with a painful sort of longing in his chest. 

Fenris knew he wasn’t the only one who was concerned about Hawke. During their journey, he caught the worried glances that the others would cast her way, but he didn’t know what to say to them. How could he assuage their concerns if he couldn’t even assuage his own?

Cole seemed especially concerned. Their time in the Fade seemed to have affected him poorly, and he didn’t seem to be able to separate himself from the others’ fears and distress the way he did before. 

“I want to help, but I can’t help the way she wants,” Cole said quietly to Fenris one day.

Fenris eyed him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“She asked me to search,” he said. “Flit through, fly fast in the Fade so I won’t be caught, but I can’t. Not like this. Not like… that.” He shuddered. “It’s closed, covered, can’t slip through. Not like me.”

A fresh spike of anxiety lanced through Fenris’s chest. “She asked you to look for Carver in the Fade?”

“Yes. But I can’t,” Cole said. He bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Fenris said distractedly. Hawke hadn’t told Fenris that she’d asked Cole to do that. Why hadn’t she told him?

“I want to help,” Cole murmured. He wrung his hands together. “Not what she asks, but maybe what she needs. Pick it loose, peel it away, softer and smoother so it doesn’t fret and foul…” 

Fenris frowned. “Why don’t you do that, then? Help the way you usually do?” 

“She won’t let me,” Cole said plaintively. “She hugs me, laughing loud and smiling bright, but crumbling like the sandcastles they used to build together.” He looked away into the distance, but his hands were still twisting together in agitation. “‘Stop. I don’t deserve your help. If you can’t find him, then you can’t help.’” He looked at Fenris again. “I want to help. But I can’t.”

 _I don’t deserve your help._ She was blaming herself – exactly as Fenris had known she would. But if she refused to talk about it, how was he supposed to convince her that she was wrong? 

She _was_ wrong. It wasn’t her fault at all.

It was Fenris’s fault.

“No,” Cole said firmly, taking Fenris by surprise. “ _He_ chose. Hands blazing bright, burning with faith: the Maker, the Inquisition, family. He had faith. That’s why he stayed.”

Fenris ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Go talk to Solas,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Cole bowed his head. “All right,” he said sadly, and he walked away, leaving Fenris alone. 

They arrived at Skyhold the following day. They were met at the gates by Josephine and Leliana, and Josephine instantly pulled Hawke into a hug. 

“Lady Rynne, I…” Her face was twisted with distress as she pulled away and squeezed Hawke’s hands. “I am so sorry for your loss. I pray that Andraste guides Ser Carver to peace. He was a good and loyal man…” 

Hawke smiled and squeezed Josephine’s hands in turn. “He was, wasn’t he?” she said warmly. “He was very fond of you. I should thank you for being so sweet to him.”

Fenris watched her with an ache in his belly. She was acting as though Josephine was the one who had lost Carver, not herself. 

She released Josephine’s hands and waved Sera over. “Come on, you, we’ve got business to look after.” She winked at Fenris, then hurried away toward the tavern arm-in-arm with the elven archer. 

Josephine looked askance at Fenris. Her pleasant ambassador’s expression was in place, but the worry was still evident in the tilt of her eyebrows. 

“Is she all right?” Leliana asked. Her tone and expression were neutral as usual, but her pensive gaze was on the back of Hawke’s head as she and Sera ran off to the tavern.

“She will be,” Fenris said with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. He was reluctant to discuss Hawke’s particular methods of coping with anyone else – particularly since her coping methods were not working particularly well. 

Leliana nodded once, then turned to Josephine. “Shall we adjourn to your office?” She looked at Fenris. “We will need the Commander’s presence to plan our next strategic move, but a number of political matters have arisen in the meantime…” She smiled faintly at Fenris’s frown. “... and your counsel is required, distasteful though it might be.”

He reluctantly followed Leliana and Josephine to the keep. “The pair of you know more about these matters than I,” he groused. “It remains unclear to me why my opinion should hold so much sway.”

Leliana shot him a small smile. “Perhaps it is your status as an outsider that makes your opinion so important,” she said. “The fate of nations has so often been decided by those who have a bird’s-eye view. There is something to be said for the perspective of someone different.”

“The perspective of an ant on the ground instead of a bird, you mean,” Fenris said flatly as they reached Josephine’s office. As a city elf and a former slave to boot, he was, after all, the lowest of the low in terms of class and status in every nation in Thedas. 

Leliana steadily met his eye. “Yes,” she said quietly. “As the Inquisition’s spymaster, I will always know things that you cannot know. But as an elf… _you_ will always see things that I could never see. Do not discount the value of such a perspective, Fenris.”

He twisted his lips, feeling both grateful and awkward for her impromptu encouragement. He waved politely at Josephine’s door. “All right. Show me these matters that require my attention.”

They entered her office, and Josephine lifted her tablet and quill from the desk. “First of all: we have received petitions for aid from King Markus of Nevarra, and from the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium. There is darkspawn on their shared border, and each of them has hinted at a wish for an alliance—”

“We side with Nevarra,” Fenris said immediately. He sat on the couch in her office with no small amount of resignation. “What is the next issue?”

Leliana smirked at Josephine. “I told you,” she said. 

Josephine pursed her lips primly, then made a note on her tablet. “Very good. The next issue…”

Fenris spent a long two hours with Leliana and Josephine. When he was finally released from his duties, he stepped out of Josephine’s office and bumped right into Sera. 

She leapt back, then sputtered with laughter and fled down the stairs to the kitchen. Fenris stared at her departing back in surprise, then pushed open the outer door that led into the Great Hall.

Hawke was standing there, and her shit-eating grin widened when he stepped into the hall. “Sera ran down to the kitchen, did she?” she said. 

“Yes,” Fenris said. He raised an eyebrow. “Should I ask what you are doing?”

“Pranks,” Hawke said succinctly. “Or setting up for some pranks, at least.” 

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because _you_ have a problem,” Sera said suddenly. It seemed that she’d run back upstairs from the kitchen as soon as she’d reached the bottom floor. 

She leaned her elbow casually on Fenris’s shoulder. “Soldiers are going to get back from fortress thingy and be all mopey and arsey about… you know.” She shuddered, then pushed on. “They’ll be all up their own arses about the Inquisition, and _I_ can’t have fun with everybody whinging. And they’ll fall on their swords before Coryphenus can push ‘em. So pranks.”

Fenris blinked at her, and she rolled her eyes impatiently. “It’s fun, innit? Hawke knows what it’s about. Or do you _want_ everyone to think you’re too big and important and ‘ooh, fancy my glowing hand or I’ll throw you in the Fade’?” 

Fenris rubbed his forehead. “I… wait. Are you saying this is for _my_ benefit?” 

“Obviously!” Sera exclaimed. “They might complain, sure, but what they’ll mean is ‘thank you for distracting me from the end of the stupid world.’ Are you in or what?”

Fenris glanced at Hawke, and she smiled winningly at him. A distraction from the end of the world… This was clearly Hawke’s reason for going along with Sera’s plan.

He ignored a fresh throb of sympathy and shrugged. “All right. I will follow your lead.”

Sera’s eyebrows jumped up on her forehead. “What, really?”

Hawke chuckled and pushed Sera’s arm. “I told you he’d say yes.” 

Sera cackled. “Let’s crack on, then!” She ran off toward the rotunda. 

Fenris looked at Hawke. Her expression was warm with humour, but as she caught Fenris’s eye, her smile started to fade. 

She glanced toward the rotunda. “Come on, let’s catch her before she does something _really_ bad, like draw a cock on one of Solas’s murals.”

 _Talk to me,_ he thought desperately. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a loud and anxious voice hailed him. “My Lord Inquisitor! May I have a word with you?” 

He turned to see a Chantry mother hurrying toward him — one he’d never met before. Hawke groaned softly. “Oh, what fresh hell?” she muttered. 

Fenris grunted softly, then turned to the Chantry mother. “Yes?”

“My Lord Inquisitor,” she panted. She curtsied quickly. “With the political turmoil put to rest in Orlais, our minds turn to a single question: the next Divine. We cannot answer it without the left and right hands of Divine Justinia.” 

Fenris’s eyebrows rose. “You want Cassandra and Leliana to leave the Inquisition?” he asked blankly. They were the two people least likely to leave this organization behind. 

The office door behind him opened, and Josephine stepped out with her tablet in hand. “Ah, Fenris, I’m glad I — Revered Mother! I am surprised to find you here.”

Josephine’s tone was very slightly hard. Hawke grimaced awkwardly and took a step away. “I’d better go. I’m, er, very busy and important, you see.”

Fenris watched wistfully as she hurried away, then turned to Josephine. “Does this truly require my attention?”

“No,” Josephine said firmly.

“Yes,” the Chantry mother said at the same moment.

Josephine lifted her chin, and the Chantry mother turned to Fenris with wide eyes. “Surely with the full support of the Orlesian Empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls,” she wheedled.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “They are the founders of the Inquisition. You speak as though they are indispensable.”

Josephine held up a hand. “Please, Inquisitor, there is no need to address this.” She shot the Chantry mother a hard look. “The Revered Mother has been told that Cassandra and Leliana will meet the Chantry’s summons as soon as they are able.” 

The Chantry mother’s frown deepened, but she finally bowed to Fenris and walked away. 

Fenris turned to Josephine. “Does she realize where we just returned from?”

Josephine sighed. “She does. But her priorities are elsewhere. Do not concern yourself about this,” she said soothingly. “The Chantry remains preoccupied with internal strife, as they have been since we begun. I do have another matter to discuss with you, however…”

He sighed internally as he followed her back into her office. By the time he was released from her office a second time, it was late afternoon. 

He looked for Varric, intending to ask for advice about Hawke, but Varric wasn’t at his usual table by the fireplace. Fenris made his way into the courtyard, and his attention was instantly drawn to the training area near the tavern.

Varric was there, along with Hawke, Sera, Cassandra, and the Iron Bull. And Cassandra was hitting Bull over and over with a stick. 

Perplexed, Fenris wandered over to join them. Bull was grinning – or gritting his teeth, perhaps, it was hard to tell – and Hawke and Sera were cheering Cassandra on. 

Fenis sidled up to Varric, who was sitting in the shade under a tree. “Training exercise?” he asked sardonically. 

Varric chuckled. “Apparently.” 

Bull grunted as Cassandra struck him again, then gave Cassandra a feral smile. “Come on,” he growled. “This is why the Qun doesn’t like women fighting. I should have asked Cullen.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Varric whistled softly while Hawke and Sera booed at Bull. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, then swung the stick in a smooth oblique angle at Bull’s jaw. 

The stick struck home with a loud _crack_ , and Bull’s head snapped back. He stumbled back and hit the ground ass-first, and Hawke and Sera burst into a fit of cheering. 

Cassandra smirked at Bull’s bruised and chuckling face, then deftly twirled the stick before handing it to Hawke. “Your turn,” she said. “I have other things to do.” She briefly met Fenris’s eye and smirked, then sauntered away to the annex with a distinct strut in her step. 

Sera shamelessly watched as Cassandra walked away. “Phwoar,” she said. “Knickers’ll be dropping like flies, her walking away like that. Seek this, why don’t you?” she called after Cassandra.

“Hah!” Hawke said. “Just you wait. _I’m_ going to make your knickers fly off next.” She smiled up at Bull, who was on his feet again. “Ready, big boy?”

“Give me your best, little Hawke,” Bull rumbled. 

She laughed merrily, then slammed the stick into his belly. 

He barely reacted. “Again,” he said. 

Hawke hit him again, harder this time, and Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Would anyone care to explain?” 

“Qunari training exercise to master your fear,” Bull said. “Been a while since I needed it, but the way you described that nightmare demon…” He shook his head, then gestured for Hawke to hit him again. “Come on, Hawke. Less talking, more hitting.” 

_Qunari training exercise?_ Fenris thought. He’d been joking when he suggested to Varric that this was a training exercise, but now that Bull had mentioned it...

Hawke struck Bull thrice more, then stopped to catch her breath, and Sera punched her playfully in the arm. “Come on, Hawke, again!”

Hawke wiped her forehead. “Remind me again how much longer we’re doing this before we get drinks?” she asked.

“Tired already?” Bull teased. “I knew mages were soft, but I didn’t think you were _this_ soft.”

Hawke grinned at his obvious taunt, then slammed the stick into his abdomen once more. 

“There we go! Oh, yeah,” Bull groaned. “Damned demon! Piece of Fade piece of crap!”

Hawke struck him again and again, and Fenris tried to stop his misgivings from showing on his face. Demanding to be hit over and over to master your fear… Qun-prescribed beatings to twist and push down a natural reaction…

This was probably the most qunari thing Fenris had ever seen Bull do. 

He bit his tongue. It wouldn’t help anyone to point out that Bull was basically executing a miniature re-education on himself with Cassandra and Hawke’s help. 

Hawke struck Bull in the thigh, then whipped the stick up to strike him in the jaw, and Bull’s head snapped back once more. He stumbled slightly, and Fenris raised his eyebrows appreciatively. 

“A well-executed maneuver,” he said to Hawke. 

She winked at him. “It should be. I’ve seen _you_ do it enough times.”

Fenris smiled. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and her copper eyes were bright, and for the first time in a week, he felt a little hopeful. 

Bull burst out laughing and clapped Hawke on the shoulder. “Nice one!” he announced. “That was exactly what I needed. Thanks, Hawke.” He stretched his arms languorously, then jerked his head the tavern. “Let’s go. Drinks are on me.”

Sera clapped her hands, and Varric pushed himself to his feet. “Can’t argue with that,” he said affably. 

Hawke smiled at Fenris. “Coming?”

His hopeful feeling swelled. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go…” He trailed off. Hawke was looking over his shoulder with a slight grimace. 

“Inquisitor,” someone said. Fenris turned around to find Fiona hurrying toward them. 

She nodded a quick greeting to Hawke and the others. “I was speaking to Leliana about the circumstances at Adamant Fortress. A terrible affair,” she said worriedly. “She said you had yet to decide whether the Grey Wardens should ally with the Inquisition or not.” 

Fenris wilted slightly. She wasn’t wrong; the issue of the Grey Wardens was one of the problems that had been weighing on his mind during the whole trip home – when he wasn’t worrying about Hawke, that is. 

“Yes. You have input, I take it?” he said. He tried very hard to keep the weariness from his voice. 

“I do,” Fiona said. “I would speak with you, if I may?”

Fenris rubbed his mouth, then glanced at Hawke and the others. Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “Go on,” she said. 

He eyed her longingly, but she shooed him off more insistently. “Go, go,” she urged. “We’ll be here when you’re finished.”

He sighed, then turned to Fiona. “All right. We may as well find Leliana and Josephine for this. They can pass the word on to Cullen upon his return.” _And spare me from discussing this for a second time,_ he thought resentfully. 

Fiona nodded and set off toward the Great Hall. Fenris glanced back at Hawke, but she was already following the others into the tavern. 

With a heavy heart, Fenris followed Fiona back toward the keep. When he finally escaped Josephine’s office two hours later, it was with Josephine’s fervent promise that he wouldn’t be bothered by anything more for the rest of the day unless it was extremely urgent. 

He made a beeline straight for the tavern. When he arrived, Bull and the Chargers were there, and Sera was giggling drunkenly on a stool at the bar next to Blackwall, but Hawke was nowhere to be seen.

Fenris approached Bull, who lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey, boss! Come on, join us for a drink, why don’t you?”

“I can’t right now,” Fenris said with a polite nod to Krem and the rest of the Chargers. “Where did Hawke go?”

Bull scratched his ear. “Where _did_ she go? She was dancing with Piper a minute ago. You know, the little Dalish one,” he clarified at Fenris’s confused frown. “Silver hair for miles, enough to wrap your fists in…” He grinned salaciously and sipped his drink.

“That was over an hour ago, Chief,” Krem said. 

Bull raised his eyebrows. “Already? We should get some dinner, then.” He waved to a nearby serving girl.

Fenris turned to Krem. “Did you see them leave?”

“Yessir,” Krem said. “About an hour ago. She took Varric and Piper with her. That Cole fellow went along too. Said something about a tattoo?”

 _Kaffas._ Fenris’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly where she was. 

“Thank you,” he said to Krem. Without waiting for a response, he left the tavern and made his way back to the castle as quickly as he could without attracting attention.

He pushed open the door from the Great Hall to his and Hawke’s quarters, then bounded up the stairs until he reached the inner door that led into their bedroom. Sure enough, he could hear laughter emanating through the door. 

He quietly opened the door and made his way up the stairs. Hawke was lying on her belly on the bed, naked from the waist up with her feet near the head of the bed. Varric was sitting on the couch, which he’d pulled up to the foot of the bed, and Cole was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a happy-looking Toby. 

Piper, the silver-haired Dalish elf, was kneeling on the bed beside Hawke. A pot of black ink sat beside her, and Piper was carefully tapping the ink into Hawke’s skin, adding to the swirling pattern of black lines and spikes that already traversed her left shoulder blade and ribs. 

It felt like a vice was squeezing Fenris’s ribs. He slowly walked into the room.

Varric was in the midst of telling a story to Piper and Cole. “... they grab this poor merchant’s assistant, and they’re holding a knife to her throat. Then Hawke swaggers through the door–”

“Excuse me!” Hawke laughed. “I didn’t _swagger_.”

“You swaggered,” Varric said dryly. “Anyway, Hawke swaggers up and plants her hands on her hips. ‘I’ve got something that’ll get your attention,’ she says, and she starts unbuttoning her vest.”

Piper chuckled. “You didn’t.”

“Hey, it got their attention,” Hawke said cheerfully. 

“It certainly did,” Fenris said as he sat on the couch beside Varric. 

Toby barked happily, and Hawke gasped. “Fenris!” she exclaimed. “You’re here! Come on, have a drink…” She waved awkwardly at a bottle of spirits on the floor, which – surprisingly – was still mostly full. 

Fenris picked up the bottle. Hawke smiled briefly at him, then waved for Varric to continue. “Go on, then. If you’re going to slander me, might as well get on with it,” she said.

She was still avoiding his eye, and a lump of empathy and loneliness swelled in his throat. In one way, he was glad she was having Piper add to her tattoo; forced as she was to remain on the bed, Hawke couldn’t escape him now. 

They were going to talk, one way or another. It was just a matter of time.

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Varric reasoned. “Anyway, Hawke unbuttons her vest. Then she starts unbuttoning her shirt. The thieves’s eyes are growing bigger and bigger with every button that comes undone.” Varric leaned forward dramatically. “Then Hawke reaches into her bustier. And what does she pull out?”

Cole’s eyes were huge. “Was it a nug?” he asked.

Hawke and Piper burst out laughing, and Varric shot Cole an odd look. “A… what? Kid, you think a nug can fit inside of a woman’s bustier?”

“I don’t know,” Cole said earnestly. “I’ve never tried. Is it warm and dark enough?”

Hawke and Piper laughed harder. Varric stared at Cole for a moment, then scratched his ear. “Well, I’m not getting into that today.”

Fenris decided to jump in and get the story moving. “She pulled out a flask and offered it to the thieves,” he said.

Hawke grinned at him. “Ooh, storytelling with Fenris. Please, go on. Let’s hear the rest of the tale in that gorgeous voice of yours.”

Her smile was wicked and bright. The skin on her back was inflamed and red where Piper was working on it. Fenris took a sip from the bottle, swallowing the lump in his throat as he did.

He shook his head. “I will leave this job to Varric. He will do your actions justice.”

Hawke pouted playfully. “Spoilsport,” she said, then looked at Varric again. “All right, Varric, go on.” 

Varric smirked at Piper. “Hawke pulls out a flask and she goes, ‘a little brandy, gentlemen? It’s like mother’s milk to me’. Then she did that girly thing with her arms–”

“– pushing her breasts together with upper arms so her bosom looks more prominent,” Fenris put in. 

Hawke and Piper burst out laughing again, and Varric chuckled. “Yeah, that,” he said. “So the thieves are gaping at her flask and at her, uh, _assets_. And while they’re busy trying to get their heads back in order, Aveline and the city guard came bursting in. They arrested the thieves, and Hawke _didn’t_ get arrested for public indecency. Not that time, at least.”

“ _That_ time?” Piper exclaimed. “Well, now I need to hear about the time she _did_ get arrested.” She playfully poked Hawke on an unmarked part of her back. 

Hawke laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, Pipes, you’ll be hearing lots of stories before the night is through.” She reached for the bottle in Fenris’s hand.

He handed it to her. But as she wrapped her fingers around it, he reached out and took hold of her wrist. 

She looked up and met his eyes. Fenris stared at her, keeping his eyes locked on her face until her smile started to melt away. 

_There._ There she was: beneath the incessant lovely smile and the incessant brilliant laughter and the unbearable fucking distance she was placing between them, Rynne was there, genuine and raw and pained, and Fenris held her gaze and her wrist until she looked away from him. 

He released her wrist. She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long drink, then placed it on the ground at the foot of the bed and smiled. “Tell us another story, Varric,” she said. 

“As the lady commands,” he drawled. “Maybe I’ll tell a story about someone else this time.”

Hawke snickered. “If you insist. I’m so entertaining, though! But I suppose it’s not always about me.” She folded her arms and rested her cheek on her arms. 

Her tone was cheerful and glib, and to someone who didn’t know better, her words were innocent enough. To Fenris and Varric, however…

They exchanged a quick worried glance. Then Varric smiled at Piper. “I’ll tell you one that Hawke told me when we first met,” he said. “When she was thirteen or so, she was in the Lothering market with the family. Hawke, as usual, was marching to the beat of her own drum, and she went off on her own to try and buy some sweets with a copper she swiped from her mother’s purse.”

Hawke snorted and lifted her face from her arms. “Oh yeah. This one.” She chuckled. “I can’t believe you remember this one.”

Varric smirked at her before continuing his tale to Piper. “So there Hawke was, strolling through the market all pleased with herself for her cleverness–”

“I really was,” Hawke interjected helpfully.

“–when she was approached by some unsavoury-looking fellows who started getting fresh with her.”

Piper curled her lip. “Getting fresh with a thirteen-year-old? That’s disgusting.”

Varric nodded sagely. “Hawke’s little brother thought so too, because a minute later he came bulling in – all fifty pounds of him. Knocked one of those guys over from sheer surprise, then started swinging his little fists like he had nothing to lose.”

Fenris glanced at Hawke. She was beaming at Varric. “Bloody Carver,” she said fondly. “And he thought _I_ was impulsive.” She smiled over her shoulder at Piper. “I ended up having to use a bit of sneaky magic to distract the boys who attacked me. Then Carv and I had to run out of there like our asses were on fire.”

Varric chuckled. “And then he scolded _you_ for running off in the first place, right?”

“Exactly!” Hawke exclaimed. “But that was my baby brother. Always getting into scraps that were far bigger than he could handle. Until he grew up and became the big one, that is.” She smiled up at Piper. “I know you only met him a couple times, but you remember how tall he was, yes?” She chuckled and rested her chin on her folded arms. “It still boggles my mind how big and tall he got. Odd to think he used to be shorter than me. Fuck me if I know how he got so damned tall.” 

She was smiling still. As Fenris watched, a tear trickled down her cheek. 

He shifted forward on the couch, then reached out and wiped her tear away with his thumb. She met his eye briefly — just long enough for him to see the tears collecting there — then laid her cheek on her folded arms. 

Fenris looked up at Piper, who was watching Hawke with a stricken look on her face. Piper met his eye, then nodded subtly and flicked Hawke’s ear. “I’m running out of ink here, _lethallan_. I’ll come back tomorrow if you want?”

Hawke sniffled quietly and nodded. “That’s great. Thanks, Pipes,” she said in a muffled voice.

Piper shot Fenris an apologetic look, then slid off the bed with her tattoo implements in hand and slipped away toward the stairs. 

Once she was gone, Varric leaned forward on his elbows. “Hey,” he said gently. “You wanna talk about him?”

Hawke roughly wiped her face on her arms. “And say what? He faced off against a demon that was more than ten times his size. I think that says everything that needs to be said: he was a big brawny ass.” She laughed.

She wasn’t making eye contact with any of them now. With a painfully aching heart, Fenris reached out and tucked a lock of dark tufty hair behind her ear. 

She pressed her lips together hard. Then Cole spoke up from his spot on the floor. “'So bloody scared, but this is right. I’m doing something right, something important, something to be proud of. Just wish she knew I didn’t mean the stuff I said. Wish she knew it’s not her fault. Not Bethany, not Mother, not this.'” 

Hawke’s face crumpled. “Fuck,” she whimpered, and she buried her face in her arms.

A silent sob wracked her half-naked body. Fenris met Varric’s eye and nodded subtly toward the stairs, then rose from the couch and sat beside Hawke on the bed.

Varric quietly ushered Cole to his feet and away toward the stairs. Toby gave Fenris a pitiful look, then followed Cole and Varric with his tail between his legs. Fenris, meanwhile, was stroking Hawke’s unmarked right shoulder and back. 

He listened for the soft _snick_ of the door closing as Varric and Cole left. Then he looked down at Hawke’s prone form. “You are not to blame for anything that happened,” he told her quietly. 

She shook her head and sobbed out loud, then covered her head with one arm, and Fenris felt an answering burn of tears in his own eyes. He desperately wanted to hold her, but her freshly tattooed skin was red and raw, puffy with irritation and pain, and he didn’t want to hurt her more. 

He slid off of the bed and fetched a pot of elfroot salve from their writing desk, then settled beside her on the bed once more. He unscrewed the lid from the pot and began carefully smoothing the salve onto Hawke’s reddened skin. 

She sobbed again. “Fenris…” she pleaded.

He inhaled slowly to control his own distress. “I’m right here,” he murmured. He continued massaging the herbal salve into her fresh tattoo, gently smoothing his fingers over her shaking shoulders. 

She gasped in a shaky breath. “He probably thought I hated him. I was so mean to him.”

“He didn’t think you hated him,” Fenris said. 

“You don’t know that,” she retorted. She choked back another sob. “I told him to leave the Inquisition. What kind of bitch–”

“He did not think you hated him,” Fenris said, more insistently this time. “And he loved you. He told me so.” He stroked another dab of salve along the line of her spine. 

“He said that?” she asked in a tiny voice. “We’re talking about the same Carver? Big beefy Templar? He… he told you he... loved me?”

“Yes,” Fenris said quietly. 

Hawke was silent for a long moment. Fenris continued to caress her back, but a moment later, her shoulders started to shake again. 

Fenris swallowed hard, then tugged gently on her arm. “Come here,” he whispered. 

She slowly pushed herself upright, and Fenris pulled her close. A moment later she was curled in his lap and sobbing uninhibitedly into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, heedless of her salve-slicked skin as he cradled her in his arms.

She clenched her fingers in his tunic and tried to catch her breath. “It’s my f-fault,” she cried. “It’s my fault he got left behind.”

Fenris closed his eyes in defeat. He _knew_ she’d been thinking this all along.

He stroked her hair. “No,” he said. “This is not your fault.”

“It is!” she insisted. She hiccupped and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “If I was stronger, if I could have held my f-fucking light cage for just a minute longer, then–”

“You _are_ strong,” Fenris said fiercely. “You were nearly overextended. It was not your–”

She smacked his chest to silence him. “He got left behind because _I_ needed to be protected!” she shouted. “It’s my fucking fault!”

Fenris shook his head. “He died because of my orders. I told him to come with us, and I… I allowed him to stay behind.” He took a deep and bracing breath. “It is _my_ fault, Hawke. You know that. That’s why you have been angry with me.”

She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. “I’m not–! What... Fenris, I’m not angry at you,” she said.

He tilted his head and didn’t speak, and she dropped her gaze. “All right, I… I was at first,” she admitted. “But… Fenris, I don’t blame you, I really don’t. I don’t,” she insisted, as he continued to gaze at her in silence. “It – your orders – you gave good orders when you told Carv to come with us. He’s – he _was_ …” She swallowed hard. “He was a good warrior. A _great_ warrior. You weren’t wrong to bring him along. You couldn’t have known we’d fall into the fucking Fade.”

He shook his head. She was tiptoeing around him like she had all week, and it was the last thing he wanted. “I understand your anger. But…” He broke off, uncertain if he should continue. They weren’t supposed to be talking about Fenris’s feelings, after all. They were supposed to be talking about Carver, because Hawke was grieving. 

After a full week of pushing her misery down, hiding it behind her beautiful smiling mask and channeling it into the fresh black ink on her skin, she was finally grieving. This wasn’t the time for Fenris to tell her how utterly alone he’d felt all week. 

The words poured unbidden from his lips all the same. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t talk to me,” he said. “You have never… withdrawn from me before. You ought to tell me if you are angry. Yell at me if you must, just…” He took a painful breath. “Don’t… turn away from me.” 

Her eyebrows rose with distress. “But – Fenris, I’m not angry anymore. I’m not!”

“You have been avoiding me all week,” he pointed out.

Her coppery eyes went even wider. “I was trying to spare you!”

He frowned. “Spare me what?”

“This!” she exclaimed. She waved vaguely at herself. “This bullshit. All of _this_. The whinging and the tattoo and the stupid crying…” She drew a tremulous breath. “This is the last thing you need. Fuck, it’s the last thing _I_ need. I’m supposed to be leading the mages with Solas and Fiona, and you’re supposed to be running the Inquisition—” 

“ _This_ is why you have been avoiding me?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t trying to _avoid_ you!” she said. She hiccupped, and another tear snaked its way down her cheek. “I was — I just wanted — you’re busy, you have the Wardens to worry about and Josie and Leliana need you to make decisions and all that, and you’re the Inquisitor—”

He clasped her face in his palms. “I am _yours_ ,” he said fiercely. “I… Rynne, listen to me. You are what matters most. Above the Inquisition, above the… the politics, and the Chantry and this blighted war. _You_ are what I hold above everything else. How could you possibly think otherwise? How could you dare to think I don’t have time for this?”

He was almost feeling angry now, but his growing ire immediately melted when she burst out another sob. 

A fresh wave of tears ran down her cheeks. “Why?” she demanded.

He stared at her in consternation. “Why what?” 

“Why me?” she snapped. “I’m not... I’m nothing special. Just some stupid girl from Lothering who couldn’t even keep her own brother safe. I let Carver die, and I watched my mother die and I let the Chantry get blown up by letting Anders do whatever the fuck he felt like—”

Her fingers were creeping around to the left side of her ribs. Fenris grabbed her hand. “Stop,” he begged. “Stop this.”

She sobbed and tried to pull her hand free. “The Nightmare was right,” she cried. “They’re dead because of _my_ stupid decisions, or — or because I was impulsive and w-weak—”

His chest was aching. He inhaled deeply through the pain and held her hand more tightly. “Hawke...” 

“It’s just you and me now,” she said. She stared up at him, face flushed and stained with tears. “We’re the only Hawkes left, Fenris.” Her bloodshot eyes grew larger, and she twisted her fingers more tightly in his tunic. “It’s just… you’re the only one left.”

 _Fear_. Her expression was a horrible, perfect portrait of fear.

A painful burn of sorrow rose at the back of his throat and the backs of his eyes. He forced the tears back and met her terrified gaze as steadily as he could. 

“Nothing will happen to me,” he told her. 

She tried to shake her head, but Fenris took her face in his hands. “Nothing will happen. I promise you that,” he said. 

Another trail of tears poured from her eyes. “You can’t make that promise,” she said plaintively.

“I can. I am saying it now. I will never leave you,” he said. “Nothing will tear me from your side. You and I… We walk this world together, and nothing will change that. I forbid it.” 

She took a deep and tremulous breath and closed her eyes. For a long, silent moment, Fenris watched as she simply breathed. 

Bit by bit, her breathing and her expression grew calm, and Fenris felt his own distress easing in response. 

Then she opened her eyes. “I will die before I let anything happen to you,” she said.

A bolt of fear struck him in the belly. Her expression was soft, but her words and her tone were hard as steel. 

He shook his head. “Hawke—”

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Her lips were on his cheek, then his cheekbone and finally his ear. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than anything and anyone. I _will_ keep you safe.”

The hardness of her words was chilling. He swallowed hard and clasped the nape of her neck in one hand. 

“We keep each other safe,” he corrected her. “ _Together,_ Hawke. We will stay safe together. We… this life is nothing if we are not together.”

She nodded silently and kissed his cheek again. He tightened his arms around her body and closed his eyes as she kissed his face, and then her lips were pressing against his own. 

She coaxed his lips apart with her own, and Fenris kissed her back, pulling off his tunic at her behest so they were skin to skin from the waist up. Without speaking, they lay back on the bed, arms and legs entwined as Hawke kissed his lips and his face and his neck.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his chest, and Fenris twined his fingers in the tufty hair at her nape. They lay together in silence, entangled in a mess of limbs and fingers and fierce devotion, and Fenris gently ran his fingers along her neck until she gradually fell asleep. 

Her breathing was deep and slow, and her body was a perfectly limp weight on his chest. He gazed unseeingly up at the canopy of their bed, thankful that she was at peace, but a fresh new worry was worming its way into his belly. 

_I will die before I let anything happen to you._ To Fenris’s ears, the words were a threat more than a comfort. If she really thought he would let her sacrifice herself for his sake… 

A rash of goosebumps ran down his arms. He took a deep breath and released it in a slow, careful sigh.

And then he realized with a jolt of alarm that he and Hawke weren’t alone.

Cole was sitting at the foot of the bed. Fenris instinctively tightened his arms around Hawke’s half-naked body. How long had Cole been sitting there? 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Leave us!”

Cole slid off the bed. “Her dreams are loud,” he said. “Clanging, clamouring, crying out. I…” He looked pleadingly at Fenris. “I want to help. Sweep them away, soften the edges like the scarf she gave to you.” 

Fenris scowled, and Cole wrung his hands together. “She was soft before, but there’s a snag. It makes her jagged. I can sand it down, help to make her smooth again.”

Fenris stared at him. He looked distinctly anxious, like he had since their escape from the Fade.

Hawke sighed softly in her sleep, and her arms tightened around Fenris’s body. He glanced down at her sleeping face. She seemed relaxed and peaceful, but if Cole was correct, it was just another mask hiding the turmoil of her sleeping mind. 

Fenris considered the spirit-boy’s words for a long, tense moment. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Cole once more. 

“No,” he said. “You will ask her before you touch her mind.”

Cole ducked his head. “All right,” he whispered, and he disappeared. 

Hawke shifted sluggishly on his chest. “Fenris?” she murmured.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Sleep.” He stroked her hair until she grew still again. Now he had yet another thing to worry about: Cole’s increasingly anxious behaviour. It wasn’t like Cole to be this visibly worried about helping people. He usually just floated calmly around the castle doing his strange little deeds. To see him being so visibly anxious… 

Fenris shoved the concern aside. He would tell Solas about it tomorrow. He had enough to worry about without adding Cole’s mood to the mix. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another day of duties and problems and coping with the fallout of this blasted war. But for now, he would try and melt into the long-missed closeness of Hawke’s embrace. 

For now, he would hold her tattooed body in his arms, and he would pretend that no hardships would ever touch them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: updates might be slower than usual this month so I can continue my Fenquisition playthrough and plan the next chunk of this fic… and also because I’m going on a mini-vacay to California in late July! [cue me singing ‘California Gurls’ forever]
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your readership and your patience! I won’t let you down. I have never started a longfic that I didn’t finish. ;)
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to swing by and say hello! xo


	29. In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes reference to [some letters that Fenris wrote about Hawke,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350893/chapters/39950604) which is part of my own FenRynne canon. It’s not obligatory reading, but in case anyone is interested, the link is there.

Fenris woke up in the middle of the night to find himself alone. 

He cleared his throat and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Hawke?” he said hoarsely. 

There was no response. He sat up and squinted around the bedroom. The moonlight slanting through the balcony was dim, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions: she wasn’t here. 

He tried to suppress his anxiety as he slid out of the bed and pulled on his tunic from earlier today. Perhaps she’d just gone to the kitchen for a snack; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten peckish in the middle of the night and gone to fetch some toast.

He vaulted down the stairs, and a moment later he was in the Great Hall. It was silent and empty but for the requisite castle guards, lit only by the handful of torches on the walls.

There was light coming from Solas’s rotunda as well. This wasn’t surprising in itself; it was likely that Solas was painting one of his grand-scale murals, which he seemed to prefer completing all at once in the course of a single day’s work. 

What was surprising, however, were the voices emanating from the rotunda: Solas’s voice, and Hawke’s as well. 

Fenris listened to their conversation as he moved toward the rotunda. Hawke’s tone was wheedling but insistent.

“... and I know it comes as second nature to you, and maybe it’s just that sort of natural talent, but isn’t it possible to teach someone to do it?” she was saying. “I mean, everyone dreams. Well, aside from dwarves. Is it really that much of a stretch to go from random dreaming to purposeful dreamwalking?”

 _Dreamwalking?_ Fenris thought. Why was she asking Solas about being a somniari?

She was talking still. “Merrill’s former Keeper sent us into a dream on purpose once before. Granted, she sent us into an actual somniari’s dream, but wouldn’t it be something like that?”

Solas sounded weary as he replied. “It is possible to learn dreamwalking, yes,” he said. “For those who do not possess the natural skill, a combination of herbs and a particular state of mind can be adopted to sink into the Fade at will. But…” 

He trailed off. Fenris slowed to a stop at the threshold of the rotunda and peered inside. 

Just as he’d predicted, there were jars of paint arrayed on Solas’s desk, and a new mural was half-finished. Solas was rubbing his chin, and when he lifted his face to look at Hawke, his expression was tired and sad.

“I am concerned about your intentions with this request,” he said to Hawke. “What is it you would hope to achieve with this particular skill?”

Hawke folded her arms and shrugged. Her silken robe slipped off of her shoulder, which was still slightly red from the freshly-added ink. “Nothing, really,” she said. “I’m just wondering. You know me, always full of burning Fade-related questions in the middle of the night.”

Her tone was light – deceptively light. A fact that Solas clearly detected, as he tilted his head chidingly. 

She unfolded her arms. “All right, all right, no need to use the disappointed-father face,” she said jokingly. “I was… I don’t know.” She scratched her ear. “I was thinking if I could walk in the Fade on purpose, maybe I could… find my brother.” 

Fenris’s stomach jolted. She thought she could find Carver in the Fade? Did she… was she thinking to save him from the Fade?

“You cannot bring him back,” Solas said. His voice was extremely gentle. “The violence with which the rift was closed–”

“I know that,” Hawke said sharply. “I know he’s… I’m not…” She broke off and scratched idly at her left shoulder, then hissed softly as her nails grazed the inflamed skin. 

Fenris couldn’t stand it. The scratching and the questions and her outburst of self-blame from earlier tonight… 

He stepped into the rotunda. “Hawke,” he said quietly. 

She looked at him with wide eyes as he approached. “Fenris! What are you doing up?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he said. He gently readjusted her robe to cover her shoulder.

She winced apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d have a snack, and then I saw that Solas was up so I came for a chat. Even though I’m obviously disturbing his quiet time.” She turned her apologetic grimace to Solas.

“It is not a problem,” Solas said. “But I would ask that you explain your intentions to me. It remains unclear how dreamwalking would help you.” 

Hawke sighed. “I guess I just thought… Couldn’t Carver still, you know. I mean, the Divine was… she had that spirit-y thing that was acting like her.”

Solas bowed his head, but Hawke took an eager step toward him. “And you said – Solas, you said it yourself, if the spirit was so convinced that it _was_ Justinia, and it was talking like her and acting like her, then who’s to say it wasn’t really her? _You_ said that.”

“I did, yes,” Solas said wearily. 

She smiled hopefully. “So maybe–”

“Hawke, it would not be the same,” Fenris interjected. “The spirit was an impersonator. It had knowledge the real Justinia didn’t possess. It may have helped us, but it was not the real Justinia.”

Hawke pursed her lips in frustration, then mustered up a smile. “Well, maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe a spirit-Carver would be nicer to me. A girl can hope, right?”

Her tone was glib. Fenris regarded her sadly until her smile started to slip away. 

Then Solas replied. “That was a rare occurrence,” he told her. “A very unusual one – unique, perhaps. The circumstances that would have conspired for such a phenomenon to occur–”

“–aren’t unique anymore!” Hawke interrupted. “Justinia was physically in the Fade, and she died. Carver was physically in the Fade, and he–” She broke off and bit her lip, then widened her eyes pleadingly at Solas. “It’s possible, right? That the same thing that happened with Justinia’s… personality, or memories or whatever. It could have happened to Carver, right?”

Solas held up a hand. “Even if that were the case, recall that book you found in the Fade. The one with the repeating entry, which stated that–”

“–you can’t force the Fade to take you to a certain path,” Hawke finished. 

“Precisely,” Solas said. “Even if some part of Carver’s essence lingered still, you could not force your way to the part of the Fade where he would still exist.” He sighed. “Furthermore, that particular area of the Fade…”

He trailed off, but Fenris understood. “It is inaccessible now,” he said. “I closed it. The Nightmare is trapped there because I closed it.”

“That is correct,” Solas said softly. 

Hawke gazed at him, then looked away. She was quiet for some time, her arms tightly folded and her gaze was on one of Solas’s murals – the panel depicting the Inquisition as a pack of wolves.

Fenris surreptitiously placed a hand at the middle of her back and stroked her spine with his thumb. A tear ran down her cheek, and she briskly wiped it away before smiling at Solas again. “You’re not just telling me this so I’ll leave you alone to your painting?”

Solas somberly met her gaze. “I would never dismiss such questions so callously,” he said. “And you are not the first person in history to wonder about such things. But the particular brand of hope that inspires these questions…” He shook his head slowly. “The active pursuit of such an avenue of enquiry is a burden I would not wish on a friend.”

Hawke folded her arms more tightly. “So you think I should give up on Carver.” 

“I believe you have a life to live,” Solas said. His voice was very gentle. “I would not see you waste it chasing after such tenuous hopes.”

She looked away toward the wolf mural again. Fenris gently ran his thumb along the small of her back, and they were all quiet for some time.

Hawke sniffled and wiped her cheek. “I like this mural,” she said. “I mean, I like them all, but… the wolfpack. I think it’s my favourite one.”

“I’m glad that it pleases you,” Solas said softly. He picked up a jar of paint and began stirring it.

Hawke sniffled once more, then smiled. “Well, let’s just chalk this up to another rousing academic discussion, shall we?” 

Solas politely inclined his head. “Certainly.”

She smiled more brightly, then walked over to Solas and gave him a hug. “Thanks, professor,” she said teasingly. “You’re a good egg.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she barked out a laugh. “I mean that in the fondest way, I swear,” she said. She ran her hand along the back of his bald head and winked at him, then sauntered toward Fenris and squeezed his hand. 

“Come on, handsome,” she said. “Last one back to bed is a rotten — er.” She grinned at Solas, then laughed again and skipped out of the rotunda. 

Fenris took a deep breath and looked at Solas. “Thank you. For speaking to her about… all of this,” he said quietly. 

Solas paused in his stirring and met Fenris’s eyes. Then he set the jar on the table and picked up another. “She was a comfort when my friend was lost. I am sorry to see her suffer a similar loss.” He slowly made his way over to the scaffolding. “There is a particular brand of dread that comes with seeing one’s worst nightmares come true. Of having war and ignorance breathe life into one’s worst possible imaginings.” 

“This will not crush her,” Fenris said. “I will not permit it.”

Solas turned and studied him for a moment. Then a small, sad smile lifted his lips. “I am glad. Glad that you have each other,” he clarified at Fenris’s frown. “To find comfort in another in times such as these is a rare gift.” He climbed up the scaffolding, then dipped his brush and began to paint. 

Fenris eyed him in silence for a moment. Not for the first time, he wondered about those cursed tombstones he’d seen in the Fade – specifically Solas’s tombstone: _DYING ALONE_. 

Fenris didn’t understand it. Solas enjoyed being alone. He chose to be alone most of the time. He was independent and solitary, and for the most part, he kept his distance from their companions, aside from Cole. 

_And Hawke,_ he reminded himself. In her usual charming fashion, Hawke had managed to endear herself to the aloof elven mage. But now, watching as Solas quietly painted the walls, Fenris wondered if Solas was more lonely than he cared to admit. 

Then Hawke’s voice called softly from the door. “Hey,” she said. “You coming? Or are you picking brains over beauty now?”

Her smile was soft and playful. Fenris admired her for a moment, then glanced at Solas once more. “Goodnight,” he said. 

“Sleep well. Both of you,” Solas said. He smiled faintly, then resumed his brisk brushstrokes. 

Hawke took Fenris’s hand as they strolled through the Great Hall back toward their quarters. “Were you gossiping?” she whispered. “I may be jealous. He never gossips with me.”

Fenris huffed quietly. “You don’t need Solas to gossip. You have Dorian for that.”

She chuckled. “That is very true. Sometimes we gossip extra loudly in the library so Solas is forced to listen to us.” 

Fenris smirked and shook his head. “It surprises me sometimes that he is so fond of you.” 

Hawke grinned and poked him in the chest. “What’s that crack supposed to mean? Of course he’s fond of me. I’m wonderful.”

Fenris pinched her waist. She squeaked, then slapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself, and he pulled her close and kissed her temple. 

“I happen to agree,” he murmured. He unlocked the door to their quarters, then politely stood aside to let her pass. 

“Ooh, agreeing with me about something? Quite the seduction technique you have there,” she purred. She patted his bum as she sidled past him, and a minute later, they were ensconced in their bed once more. 

She snuggled into his chest and tucked her fists cozily beneath her chin. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

“For you as well,” he replied. He closed his eyes and savoured the warmth of her body pressed close against his own. 

A few minutes later, however, he was still awake. The topic of dreams and the Fade wouldn’t leave him now, and Cole’s and Solas’s words were swirling through his mind. Cole’s warning about something jagged and sharp in Hawke’s dreams, and her heartbreaking questions to Solas about talking to Carver in the Fade… 

It was obvious that Hawke had unspoken words for Carver, words that she’d not had the chance to say while he was still alive. Cole and Solas couldn’t help her with that, but as Fenris lay silently in their bed, it occurred to him that maybe _he_ had an idea that could help. One that Hawke herself had inspired, in fact. 

He opened his eyes. She was still awake as well; he could feel it from the cadence of her breathing. 

“Hawke?” 

“Mm?”

“Perhaps you should write Carver a letter.”

She shifted slightly but didn’t respond, so Fenris pressed on. “You have regrets,” he said. “There are things you wish you had not said, and… things you wish you had. You cannot say them now, but it may ease your heart to write them down.” 

She shrugged and tucked her face against his chest. “What for?” she said in a muffled voice. “It’s not like he’s around to read it.”

“That is not the point,” Fenris said. “It is like… lancing a wound. You release those regrets to the page so they do not fester in your soul.”

She lifted her head to look at him with wide eyes. “You’re thinking of the love letters you wrote for me in Kirkwall. Before we got together.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

She studied him for a moment, then smiled cheekily. “Well, it’s good to know your affection for me was like a festering wound in your soul.”

He gave her a fond but chiding look. “You know what I mean,” he said. “The letters were an outlet. A way to ease the yearning. And I did not intend for you to read them; that was never the point. It was the writing that helped. Without it, I was…” He ran a hand slowly through his hair. “I felt… volatile.”

She raised her eyebrows, then settled slowly against his chest. “You think I’m being volatile,” she said softly. 

He hesitated for a moment. That wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking, but now that she mentioned it… 

“It is unlike you to keep your thoughts so private,” he said. “I think it is hurting you more than you think.”

She huffed in amusement. “Are you calling me a loudmouth?”

Fenris carefully rolled onto his side to face her. She was smiling slightly, but her eyes were downcast. 

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Will you consider what I’ve said?” he murmured.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, and a tear trickled over the bridge of her nose.

Fenris gently wiped it away with his thumb. Hawke shifted closer to him, shifting down on the mattress and tucking her head beneath his chin. 

He wrapped his arm around her. A few moments later, he could feel the dampness of her tears bleeding into his tunic. 

He held her as she cried. Some time later, when her shaking had eased and her body was softened with sleep, Fenris closed his eyes as well. 

It didn’t surprise him that magic could not help with this. Fenris’s suggestion might be mundane, and perhaps Hawke would decide not to take it. But if it brought her comfort, he thought it was worth trying. 

**************************

The next morning, after a quick breakfast in their quarters, Hawke went to the mage tower to meet with Dorian and Fiona, and Fenris made his way to the rotunda once more. He hoped that Solas was still awake despite spending the night painting; he wanted to discuss Cole’s odder-than-usual behaviour.

Solas was awake, but just barely, it seemed. He was slumped in his desk chair with a paint-spattered rag in hand, and his gaze was on the mural that he had just finished. 

He rose to his feet when Fenris entered. “Fenris,” he greeted. 

Fenris nodded, then launched into his concerns without preamble. “I wanted to speak with you about Cole,” he said. “He has been different since we returned from the Fade. There is a desperation to his attempts to help that wasn’t there before.”

“I know,” Solas said. He tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. “He has been unable to discard the doubts that the Nightmare planted in his mind.”

“Perhaps he is right to doubt,” Fenris said. “He does bear some similarities to the Nightmare.”

Solas lowered his hand. “If Cole is besieged by doubts, his reasons for helping may stop being about the helping itself. They will become about the proving: about showing that he is not what the Nightmare claims him to be.” He took a small step closer to Fenris. “Those doubts could twist him away from his nature. Don’t you see? They may be the very thing to corrupt him from his purpose.”

Fenris folded his arms. “So he _is_ at risk of being corrupted, then.”

Solas scowled. “That is not–”

“Yes,” Cole said suddenly from behind Fenris. “That’s why I need him to–”

“No,” Solas said loudly to Cole.

Cole strode over to Solas. “But you like demons!”

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes,” Solas snapped. “Which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings!”

“It isn’t abuse if I ask!” Cole retorted.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Cole’s fists were clenched, and he was actually glaring at Solas.

Solas glared at him in turn. “Not always true,” he bit off. “Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic!”

Cole spun toward Fenris. “He won’t bind me,” he complained. “He’s a mage, and he likes demons, but he won’t help.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You _want_ Solas to bind you?” 

“He has to!” Cole exclaimed. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages. And then…” He rubbed his hands together anxiously. “I’m not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.”

“And if binding you erases your mind?” Solas demanded. “Your consciousness?”

“Helping makes me who I am,” Cole insisted. “I help the hurting. That is what I do, all I do. Am. Me!” He took a pleading step toward Solas. “ _You_ wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people. I don’t want to hurt innocent people again.”

Solas planted his palms on the desk and bowed his head. Fenris shook his head. “There will be no blood magic,” he said to Cole. “If you are this concerned about being corrupted…” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling rather at a loss. If the risk of Cole becoming a demon was this great, the safest course of action would likely be to kill him. 

But Hawke was so fond of Cole. If Fenris was responsible for her losing someone else she cared about…

He turned to Solas. “Spirits are your specialty,” he said gruffly. “You must have a suggestion to fix this.”

Solas slowly straightened. “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages,” he said. “A spirit wearing an Amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.”

Fenris thought for a minute. Then he nodded. “All right. I will ask Isabela to search for one of these amulets. Her travels carry her from Ferelden to Rivain, and she often acquires exotic items in her encounters with other travellers.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “You mean she frequently steals valuables from other ships.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “If she acquires this amulet for Cole, will you truly complain?”

Solas raised his eyebrows, then bowed his head in acquiescence. Fenris turned to Cole. “You will remain with Cassandra during any missions outside of Skyhold until this problem is solved,” he said. He wasn’t going to take any chances in case Cole became… unsafe. 

A crease appeared between Solas’s eyebrows, but Fenris ignored it. Solas was too close to Cole to make a difficult decision, should such a decision need to be made. 

He dearly hoped it wouldn’t, however. Hawke seemed to have forgiven Fenris for Carver’s loss, but to think of how she would react if Fenris or Cassandra was forced to kill Cole… 

Cole nodded his agreement — whether with Fenris’s words or his thoughts, Fenris wasn’t sure. “All right,” Cole said. “I won’t be like it. I can’t. I help the hurt, and then make them forget so I fly free. It steals their fear, gloating, gluttonous.” He rubbed his hands together compulsively. “I don’t make them forget for _me_. It’s for them, easier for them, but... it’s for me, too, so I can wash clean.” His face twisted with worry, and he looked pleadingly at Fenris. “I’m not like it. I am me. And if I’m not, you’ll stop me? You’ll kill me?”

Fenris licked his lips. He didn’t want to say yes, truly he didn’t; he couldn’t help but imagine how betrayed Hawke would feel if Cole had to be put down. But if Cole did become a demon, they would all be in danger, including her. 

He took a deep breath. “Should you become a demon, I will kill you,” he said. 

Cole nodded eagerly. “Good. Before was wrong, but that was when I didn’t know. I can’t not know again,” he insisted. “No one gets hurt because of me.”

Fenris nodded somberly, and Cole hurried out of the rotunda. 

Solas was frowning deeply now. “Let us hope it does not come to that,” he said. 

“Agreed,” Fenris said. He folded his arms and gave Solas a challenging look. “Would you rather he live as a demon, forced against his will to perform horrific acts?” 

Solas’s expression lightened somewhat. “That is the last thing I would want,” he said. “I would, however, hope to resolve the issue by less brutal means. You have seen yourself that demons need not die to be saved from their corruption.” 

Fenris pursed his lips. Solas wasn’t wrong, but he had admitted himself that his spirit friend in the Dales was a special case in surviving and reverting to herself — _itself_ — after the binding circle was broken. 

_But Cole is a special case too,_ Fenris thought in growing confusion. Cole was the only known spirit to adopt a human form at will. If that was the case, then perhaps even a corrupted Cole could be saved without being killed…? 

Fenris rubbed his aching forehead and took a step back. “We shall see what Isabela finds,” he said. Then he left the rotunda without another word. 

Varric was sitting at his parchment-and-book-covered table by the fireplace in the Great Hall. Fenris took a seat across from him. “I’d like to borrow some parchment,” he said.

Varric glanced up distractedly. “Help yourself,” he said vaguely. “Working on a sonnet for Hawke?” 

Fenris huffed. “A letter to Isabela, in fact.” He picked up one of Varric’s spare quills and dipped it in the half-empty pot of ink.

“Ah. A dirty limerick, then.” Varric smirked, then tilted his head. “Something wrong? Beyond the usual crazy-magister stuff, I mean? You’re broodier than usual.” 

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully as he started to write his letter. Then he put down the quill and looked at Varric. “We – I – Cole was permitted to stay because he helps the Inquisition. Solas always said he is not fully like a human and doesn’t require treatment as one.” He waved at his letter in annoyance. “His neediness seems rather human-like to me.”

Varric arched one eyebrow. “Uh. If you’re writing to Isabela on Cole’s behalf, what kind of _needs_ are we talking about?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, then returned to his letter. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hawke,” he accused. “Or Blackwall. Or Bull. Perhaps all of them.”

Varric chuckled. “All right, all right. I know what you mean, though. Cole’s been pretty skittish since we came back from the Fade.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “It’s been a hard couple weeks for everyone, the kid included. Maybe he just needs a second to be a kid. All he’s done since he’s been around is listen to everyone being sad and scared. That’s got to take its toll on a person, right?”

Fenris paused in his writing and frowned at Varric. “Cole is not a normal person.”

Varric shrugged and kicked his feet up on the table. “Not if everyone keeps treating him like some weird magical creature who erases people’s problems.”

“He is a magical creature,” Fenris said slowly. “And he does erase people’s problems.” He toyed pensively with the quill. “A little too effectively, perhaps.”

“I dunno, Fenris,” Varric said. “His worrying seems pretty human-like to me.”

Fenris eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “You truly see him as a human.”

Varric shrugged. “Sure. But… I mean, think about it. People see themselves the way others see them. If everyone treats Cole like a scary demon, that’s all he’ll think he is.”

“People do not always see themselves as others see them,” Fenris said. “If that were the case…” He trailed off. He was going to say that if Varric’s words were true, then he’d still be a slave. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Now, if Varric’s words were true, Fenris would be running around Thedas claiming to be Andraste’s sacred mouthpiece.

“Not everyone does,” Varric agreed easily. “But young people do.”

 _Cole is not young,_ Fenris thought. According to Solas, his age was indeterminate. He could be older than everyone in Skyhold, for all they knew. 

He declined to mention that right now. Instead, he returned to writing his letter to Isabela. “We are not that old, Varric.”

Varric smirked faintly and started shuffling a deck of cards. “Old enough to know I have a point.”

Fenris looked up at him, then shook his head and chuckled. “Smug dwarf.” 

Varric grinned. “Come on, let’s play a hand. If you’ve got the time, Your Inquisitorialness.” He started dealing for a game of diamondback. 

Fenris shot him a sardonic smirk. “Give me two minutes. Then I will destroy you.”

Varric chuckled, and Fenris continued writing his letter to Isabela. An hour later, Fenris and Varric were chatting and enjoying their fifth hand of diamondback when a messenger hurried into the Great Hall. 

“Your Worship!” she said with a quick salute. “Commander Cullen has returned with the army. He is requesting a meeting in the war room in half an hour.” 

Fenris nodded his thanks, and the messenger darted off toward Josephine’s office. 

Varric selected another card from the deck. “Fun’s over, I guess.”

“So it would seem,” Fenris said wryly. He and Varric played one final hand, then Fenris rose somewhat reluctantly from the table to head for the war room. 

Josephine and Leliana were already there, and Cullen joined them a minute later. “Good, we are all here,” he said brusquely. He strode around to his usual side spot behind the table. “I trust you’re all well?”

Fenris eyed him a bit apprehensively. In truth, Cullen was the one who seemed unwell. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual, and Fenris noticed the stiffness with which he was holding himself as he stood behind the table – almost as though he was in pain and didn’t want it to show. 

Leliana, of course, noticed as well. “Commander, are you hurt?” she asked. 

“No,” Cullen said briskly. “I’m fine. We have important matters to discuss.” He folded his arms and looked at Fenris. “Your actions at Adamant Fortress denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’s support, our numbers match his. Corypheus’s followers must be panicking,” he said, with some satisfaction.

“My agents agree,” Leliana said. “Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “Has there been any word of his reaction?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbour Wilds.”

Fenris frowned, and Josephine voiced his thoughts. “What is Corypheus doing in such a remote area?”

Leliana folded her hands behind her back. “His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven. We believe he seeks more,” she said. “What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

Fenris looked at her with some surprise. It was very unusual for Leliana to not know something. From the calm neutrality of her expression, it must not have been easy for her to admit to this lack of knowledge.

An unexpected voice at the door startled him. “That should surprise no one. Fortunately, I can assist.”

Fenris turned and frowned at Morrigan, who was sauntering into the room. He turned back to the others. “Did you invite her to this meeting?”

Cullen and Josephine looked askance at each other, and Leliana simply looked resigned. Morrigan raised an elegant eyebrow as she approached the war table. “So suspicious, Inquisitor,” she said coolly. “Kindly recall that I am here to assist your efforts.” She shifted her weight to one hip and lifted her chin. “Corypheus yearns for something he must not find.”

Fenris folded his arms. “And you know what that is.”

The corners of her lips lifted. “I do, in fact,” she said. “‘Tis best if I show you.” She gave him an expectant look, then sashayed off toward the door. 

He watched her skeptically, then turned back to the others. “I am expected to simply follow her? Like a lamb to the lion’s den?” he said quietly. 

Cullen grimaced. Leliana bowed her head deferentially. “Whatever Morrigan may have been in the past, she is lending her assistance now,” she murmured. “We will await your return, Fenris.”

He pursed his lips, then turned away and followed Morrigan out the door. 

She cast him a sidelong glance as they walked along the corridor back to the Great Hall. “You do not trust me.”

He shrugged. “I have seen no great reason either to trust or distrust you.” He pushed open the door and allowed her to pass.

She gave a small huff of amusement. “Such a diplomatic response, when your feelings are so very clear on your face. Do you judge everyone you meet based on their pasts?”

“That is a part of it, yes,” he said. “And also on the connections they hold.” He gave her a pointed look.

Her slight smirk fell away. “Ah. You refer to my mother.”

“An undeniably suspicious connection,” he said. 

“One I would not suffer, had I the choice,” she retorted. Her tone was very flat now. “I had thought that was quite clear from our last conversation.”

Fenris didn’t reply. They descended the stairs from the Great Hall to the upper courtyard, and he followed her in the direction of the garden. 

“Don’t misinterpret my intentions, Inquisitor,” she said. “I have no need for your fondness. What I need is to protect my son, and unfortunately for you, this is the best place to do that right now.” She shot him another sly sideways glance. “You, on the other hand, _do_ need me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How are you so confident of this?” he demanded. “As you may have noticed, the Inquisition has no shortage of mages. We are spoiled for your kind, in fact.” He glanced at the mage tower, which overlooked the garden and was buzzing with activity. 

Morrigan scoffed quietly. “I am no ordinary mage. And the knowledge I possess cannot be gained from the simple study of books.”

Her tone was positively dripping with disdain, and Fenris felt an unwelcome rush of dislike for her lack of humility. 

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice hailed him from the top of the parapet. She waved as he looked up, then hurried down the stairs and skipped over to his side. “Hello, Morrigan,” she said with a smile. “What are you up to? Anything exciting?”

“She has something to show me,” he said. On impulse, he added, “Come with us.” He knew she was probably busy, but Morrigan’s manner rubbed him the wrong way, and he wanted a trustworthy mage’s opinion on… whatever Morrigan was about to show him.

She raised her eyebrows, but smiled nonetheless. “I’d love to tag along. If you don’t mind, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shrugged. “Suit yourself, Champion.”

Hawke waved dismissively as she fell into step beside him. “Please, Morrigan, it’s just Hawke.” She smiled mischievously. “Can I call you Morri?”

Morrigan eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “I would rather you did not,” she said.

Her voice was distinctly cold. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking.

Hawke chuckled. “Fair enough. I must say, your Kieran is an interesting one.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the mention of her son, but Hawke blithely continued on. “He was showing me and Dorian a very interesting formula for increasing the potency of a chilling spell by storing the potential energy from the Fade during the immediate cooldown period. Dorian is going to try it the next time we’re in the field. You’ve clearly taught him very well.” 

“Of course I have,” Morrigan said. “An ignorant child is the sign of a poor parent indeed.”

Fenris noticed that some of the stiffness had fled the witch’s shoulders. Hawke laughed. “No argument there. A smart kid means a smart adult. Well, most of the time, at least.” She grinned at Morrigan. “He’s got an excellent throwing arm, too.”

Morrigan looked at her in open surprise. “Throwing arm?” she said.

“Yes,” Hawke said. “He was playing fetch with Toby. My mabari,” she clarified at Morrigan’s raised eyebrows. “Toby was thrilled to have someone to play with who throws the stick so far. Cole doesn’t often throw it hard enough for him. Worries that Toby won’t come back if he throws the stick too far away.” She chuckled and looped her hand through Fenris’s elbow. “Little does he know that Toby is essentially a large, furry boomerang. Throw a stick for him once, and you’re his best friend.” She smiled at Morrigan. “A fact your little man is more than aware of now.”

Morrigan sniffed. “Best that these activities not interfere with his studies.”

“Oh, not at all!” Hawke said. She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Or, well. Not from now on, at least.”

Morrigan shot Hawke a disapproving look. But as she led them through the garden to one of the smaller, less populated wings of the castle, Fenris noticed the very small smile on her face. 

He looked at Hawke, who tipped him the tiniest wink. Meanwhile, Morrigan had placed her palm on the door to a dark unused storeroom. 

A soft _snick_ heralded the opening of a magical lock, not unlike the one Hawke had set for their tiny cabin back in Alamar. Morrigan opened the door and led them inside. 

She flicked her wrist, lighting a lamp within, then turned to them with a tiny smile. “This is an–”

“An eluvian?” Fenris snapped. He gaped at the huge magical mirror and instinctively took a step back from it. “An intact eluvian? How – how did you –” He glared at Morrigan. “Where did you get this? How did you get it here?”

For a moment, her face was a picture of unguarded surprise. Then she straightened and folded her arms. “You have seen such an item before?”

“Yes,” Fenris bit off. “Broken ones. Broken and corrupted. Steeped in the stench of the cursed blood magic they begot. We’ve never seen one that was whole and undamaged.” He eyed the eluvian with undisguised mistrust. 

Hawke placed a soothing hand on his forearm. “A Dalish friend of ours had an eluvian,” she explained to Morrigan. “Hers was broken, though. She never managed to get it to work.”

“A small mercy, that,” Fenris said archly. “The circumstances of its recovery–”

Hawke squeezed his wrist lightly and smiled at Morrigan, who was looking both more aloof and annoyed by the moment. “Merrill made it sound like the eluvians were hard to come by. Where did this one come from?”

Morrigan lifted her chin haughtily. “I restored this one at great cost. But another lies within the Arbour Wilds. That is what Corypheus seeks.” She looked at Fenris. “I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbour Wilds, untouched. It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find my prize.” She ran a gentle finger along the rim of the eluvian. “If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The eluvian would be his.”

Fenris scowled at Morrigan. Her pride in the eluvian and her pride in herself were so patently clear. And the way she’d spoken of the eluvian – calling it her _prize_ : she reminded him of a cat that had caught itself a fat canary.

He folded his arms. Hawke, meanwhile, was studying the mirror with her usual rapt curiosity. “You must know how this works, then,” she said brightly to Morrigan. “Solas told us that the ancient elves used these to move from place to place.” She looked up at the mirror. “Where does this one go?”

Morrigan’s lips were pursed, but she seemed somewhat mollified by Hawke’s attention. “I will show you,” she said. She lifted both hands in a coaxing gesture, and the mirror lit up. 

Fenris took another step back in shock. The entire surface of the mirror was suffused with multicoloured light, like a million soap bubbles rippling smoothly across its surface. Then the surface settled into a calm, peaceful indigo-violet-white. 

“Damn,” Hawke breathed. 

Morrigan smiled very slightly. Then she stepped _into_ the eluvian. 

Fenris and Hawke stared at the eluvian in dumbfounded silence for a moment. Then Hawke smiled up at him. “Ladies first?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.” If Morrigan was leading them into a trap, he didn’t want Hawke going in first.

He cautiously walked toward the mirror. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stepped through its surface. 

Moving through the eluvian felt like passing through a tingling curtain of warmth. Fenris set foot on dry, comfortable ground, and immediately met Morrigan’s eye.

She was standing beside the eluvian with her arms casually folded. Fenris turned back to the eluvian and exhaled quietly when Hawke stepped out of its rippling surface to stand beside him. 

She immediately made a face, then gestured vaguely at her face and chest. “What is that? That… feeling? Aura? I don’t know what to call it.” She rested her hand on her sternum and took a deep, measured breath.

Alarmed, Fenris took her arm. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and took another deep breath. “I don’t know. It feels…”

“Unnatural, yes,” Morrigan said. “What you feel is normal. For you and I, at least.” She glanced at Fenris. “I imagine it is not uncomfortable to you.”

Fenris shrugged cluelessly. “I feel nothing strange. It feels…” _Normal,_ he thought. Truthfully, this strange place felt quite comfortable to him. Familiar almost, even though he’d certainly never been here before.

This was clearly not a normal place, though. He looked around at their surroundings, and a chill ran down his back. 

There were eluvians _everywhere._ Moreso here than in the Fade, even. They all seemed broken or defunct, but still – the potential magic in this place… 

More and more of the surroundings stood out to him as he looked around. There were enormous odd structures that almost looked like artistic trees: thin spires topped with a hollow sort of globe in the shape of stylized branches. A smattering of actual trees was dotted around the place as well, and they were covered with pink and purple blossoms. The cracked and crumbling paving stones were lit from within with a gentle white light, and when Fenris looked away from them, they shimmered with a faint multicoloured brilliance, like rainbows at the corners of his eyes.

He tucked Hawke protectively against his side. “Where is this?” he asked Morrigan. “Is this the Fade?”

“It seems sort of like the Fade,” Hawke said. She was looking around with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, and she was still breathing quite carefully. “Everything is so… grey.” 

Fenris shot her an odd look. _Grey?_ The ever-present mist dulled their surroundings to a certain degree, it was true. But what about the shimmering paving stones and the bloom-covered trees?

Then Morrigan’s words hit him. This place was unnatural for herself and Hawke, she said, but not for him. Some odd by-product of being an elf, then?

“This is not the Fade, but ‘tis very close,” Morrigan was telling Hawke. “If this place once had a name, it has long been lost. I call it the Crossroads: a place where all eluvians join… wherever they might be.” She gestured to the myriad broken mirrors. “As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark: broken, corrupted, or unusable. As for the rest…” She shrugged delicately. “A few can be opened from this side, but only a few.” She looked at Fenris. “You would be hard-pressed to find another mage in your Inquisition who knows as much about the eluvians as I.” 

Fenris scowled at her faintly contemptuous tone. Then Hawke took a cautious step away from him. “This is incredible. To be able to travel so quickly…” She looked at Morrigan with wide eyes. “Where have you been able to go with the eluvians that still work?”

“My travels have led me to many strange destinations,“ Morrigan said. She looked around at their mist-shrouded surroundings. “For a time, I remained in a place such as this to raise my son. But only for a time. One cannot remain in between forever.”

“No kidding,” Hawke said. She rubbed idly at her chest. “Imagine a baby trying to grow up in a place like this.”

Fenris stepped close to her again. “Are you certain you’re well?” he muttered. “We shouldn’t remain here if it is stealing your strength.” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” She patted his arm reassuringly. “Everything just feels a bit… resistant, that’s all. Like the air doesn’t want to let me move through it.” 

Fenris stared at her. That didn’t sound like just a minor inconvenience. But Hawke was already addressing Morrigan again. “So the eluvians that can be opened. How… I mean, Merrill tried so hard to get hers to work. How did _you_ do it?” 

“With a key,” Morrigan said. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You had no key to open the eluvian in Skyhold.”

“The key can be many things,” she explained. “Each eluvian is different.” She folded her arms and casually shifted her weight to one hip. “ _I_ have knowledge as well as power. Often that is enough.”

Fenris mistrustfully studied her. “You believe Corypheus has similar knowledge and power to bring him here?” 

Morrigan pursed her lips. “That orb he carries gives him considerable power that he would not otherwise have,” she said. “Not unlike the mark on your hand, in fact.” Her gaze slid down to his left hand.

He tucked his hand in his pocket, and Morrigan shot him a tiny condescending smile before going on. “Someone with enough power could tear down the ancient barriers and enter the Fade in the flesh.” 

“Like how did we did with Fenris’s mark,” Hawke put in. She shot him a worried look. “Shit.”

Morrigan nodded once, then turned to Fenris. “He has learned of the eluvian in the Arbour Wilds, as I did. He marshals the last of his forces to reach it.” She gave him an appraising look. “You have made Corypheus desperate, Inquisitor. We must work together to stop him, and soon.”

Fenris ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Corypheus’s forces might be depleted, but the Inquisition's forces had suffered losses as well. The Arbour Wilds were an unknown location, and Fenris didn’t want to risk losing unnecessary lives by running in blind. 

If this was truly their chance to destroy Corypheus once and for all, he wanted to be certain that they were prepared. 

“I will speak with Leliana and the others,” he said. “We will make our plans.” He looked around at the Crossroads once more, taking in the gently shimmering paving stones and the blossoms and the orb-like tree sculptures.

He placed a gentle hand at the center of Hawke’s back. “Let us leave this cursed place.”

Morrigan raised one eyebrow, but led the way back through the eluvian with no further comment. Once they were back in Skyhold, Hawke took a deep experimental breath, then shot Morrigan a rueful smile. “I suppose it’s something you just get used to if you’re there for a while, no?”

Morrigan nodded a brief acknowledgement. “‘Tis one of many unique qualities of such a place. I learned a great deal of its workings during my travels therein, but the ancients left countless mysteries that are yet unsolved.” She looked at Fenris. “Would that we discover the mysteries of the Arbour Wilds before Corypheus does.” 

He scowled at her slightly acerbic tone. “We’ll go when I say we’re ready,” he said bluntly. 

Morrigan lifted her chin, and Hawke subtly elbowed him. He pursed his lips, then nodded politely to Morrigan. “Thank you for the information,” he said. “It will be useful in formulating our plans.”

“I am pleased I could help,” she said. “If you require more assistance, you know where I will be.” She gestured for them to exit the room, then magically locked the door behind her and sauntered back out into the garden. 

Fenris watched her departure with considerable disgruntlement. He still didn’t understand how or when she’d gotten the damned eluvian into the castle.

Hawke elbowed him again. “I know, right? Thank whatever random gods are out there that it’s warm within the castle grounds. I could watch those hips of hers all day.” She wiggled her eyebrows and fanned herself playfully.

Fenris threw her a chiding look. “You see that she is using us, don’t you?”

She tilted her head. “How so?”

He jerked his chin in the direction Morrigan had gone. “She says the Empress sent her as a liaison to the throne. I don’t believe it. Her motives are entirely selfish. She wants the eluvian in the Arbour Wilds for herself.” 

Hawke’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“She all but admitted it. She sought it in the past,” he said. “She was unable to access it, so she found this one instead.” He gestured at the locked room. “You heard her. She considers that cursed relic to be a prize. A trophy of sorts: a gaudy display of her magical talents.”

Hawke twined her fingers with his as they walked through the garden. “And what if she did get the eluvian? As long as Corypheus doesn’t have it, would it really be so bad?” 

Fenris gave her an incredulous look. “Are you really asking that? After everything that happened with—” 

He broke off before he could say Merrill’s name. Hawke dropped her gaze, and he hastily blustered over the awkward moment. “What purpose do you imagine Morrigan could have for another eluvian?” he asked. “Why is _she_ so fascinated with these old elven relics?”

Hawke looked up at him. “Can you really blame her for wanting to know more about the ancient elves?” she asked. “They were here for so long. And now they’re just… gone. Their culture and language and all that, gone. Aside from what the Dalish have preserved, I mean. That’s sad, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, a little too brusquely. “And it is over. It is done. I see no point lingering over what is dead and gone.”

Hawke smiled faintly, but the smile was tinged with melancholy. “You and Sera. Like peas in a pod sometimes,” she said softly. “Just because it’s over doesn’t mean we should forget it. Especially we humans. I mean, that’s our legacy. It’s shitty, but it’s true. I don’t think it helps anyone to try and pretend it didn't happen.” She looked pensively around at Skyhold’s vast and ancient walls. “Humans crushed the ancient elves. Humans turned their backs on elves with that whole Shartan-and-Andraste business.” Her wandering gaze returned to Fenris’s face. “Humans erase elves,” she said bluntly. “That’s apparently what we do best. You know what I always thought was rather fucked up? If you and I ever had a baby, no one would ever know an elf was its father. Human-elf mixed-race children look completely human.” She let out a wry little laugh. “We erased the elves so thoroughly that even your blood is dominated by ours.” 

Fenris was quiet for a moment. Her words had evoked a distracting mental image: a baby of his and Hawke’s. Perhaps with her chocolate-brown hair and his own green eyes— 

He pushed the passing fancy aside, just as he always did when it occasionally came to mind. He frowned at Hawke. “So what?” he said skeptically. “You side with the Dalish? You think the ancient elves should be restored?” 

She shrugged and grimaced. “No? I… No. I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But I definitely don’t think we should just let the whole thing go. If we decide to be all, ‘oh yes, that happened, now let’s just forget about it and sweep it under the rug’, we’ll just do the same shitty things again.”

Fenris chewed the inside of his cheek. This conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t intended. Hawke wasn’t wrong, but the discussion was making him feel rather itchy. It was reminding him of so many people — so many _elves_ : Briala’s determination, and Solas’s wistfulness about the past and his confusing disdain for the Dalish, and Sera’s contrasting disdain for the past combined with her somewhat disturbing rejection of her own elven race. And worst of all, past arguments he’d had with Merrill — ones where Merrill had accused him of not doing enough to help the other downtrodden elves. 

Arguments where Merrill was not entirely wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair, then decided to use one of Hawke’s favoured diversion techniques: a facetious comment. He smirked at her. “By ‘we’, you mean you greedy humans, I assume.”

She chuckled and poked him in the ribs. “I mean everyone. ‘Don’t be an asshole and treat each other nicely’ is a pretty good life lesson, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fenris squeezed her hand. “Ever the optimist, Hawke.”

She smiled up at him and winked. “I try.”

He studied her sunny smile with a pang of painful fondness. She was being jocular, but her words were true. She _did_ try, every day. She tried so hard to keep that beautiful smile on her face and that positive attitude in her heart, and most of the time, she was successful. And in the moments when she didn’t succeed, the moments when that lovely smile was washed away by a hot rush of tears, she was just as beautiful. 

_I love you,_ he thought. He dropped a quick kiss on her temple, then released her hand as they entered the Great Hall. “I have to return to the war room. You are returning to the tower?”

She nodded. “Yep. You know how it is: Veils to study, magical macaron recipes to perfect.” She shot him a cheeky grin. “But I want to talk to Solas first.”

A twinge of worry plucked at his gut. “You’re speaking to Solas again? About what?” 

“An idea I had in that in-betweeny Crossroads place,” she said. “I’ll speak to you later?”

“Of course,” he said. 

She smiled at him and strolled away to the rotunda, and Fenris wondered about her impending chat with Solas while he made his way back to the war room. Was she still thinking about Carver and the Fade? She looked much happier than she had last night, but it was entirely possible that she was still thinking about her nighttime conversation with Solas.

He tried to set his worries aside as he approached the war room. Hawke seemed to be doing better already compared to yesterday, and Fenris was grateful. If ongoing conversations with Solas were what she needed to cope with her brother’s loss, then Fenris wouldn’t dare to deny her that.

He just hoped she would continue to have those conversations with him, as well.

********************************

Much later that night, Fenris woke up to find himself alone. 

He was halfway out of the bed before he heard her voice. “Fenris! Where are you going?”

He stopped and looked up. She was sitting at the writing desk, her silhouette delicately outlined by a guttering candle flame.

He slowly sat back on the bed and exhaled. “I thought you’d…” He trailed off. He didn’t know where he thought she’d gone, but the idea of her wandering the castle at night with her fingernails scraping at her tattooed skin was enough to make his pulse race.

He took another calming breath and frowned at her. “What are you doing there? Are you reading at this hour?”

“Writing, actually,” she said. “I’m, um…” She shrugged. “I’m writing a letter to Carver.”

He stared at her in surprise for a moment. Her pupils were large in the darkness, but her face was quite serene.

“That’s… good,” he said blankly. “That is, if you…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Has it… have you found it helpful?”

“Yes, actually,” she said softly. “I’m almost done. And then I was, um…” Her expression became slightly apologetic. “Will you come downstairs with me when I’m done?” 

“Wherever you need me, I am there,” he said readily. But his curiosity was growing. She clearly had something in mind, but he wasn’t sure what it could be. 

She smiled at him, then turned back to the desk to write, and Fenris waited patiently until she set down her quill. 

“All right,” she said. She rose from the desk with a piece of folded parchment in her hand. “Ready?”

He nodded, then followed her down the stairs. Hawke took his hand as they entered the Great Hall, and together they exited the Great Hall and headed for the main gate. 

They neared the drawbridge, and Fenris’s eyebrows rose in surprise. At the mouth of the main gate, there was a flickering green flame. 

It was a veilfire brazier. He looked askance at Hawke, and she laughed softly and scratched the back of her neck. “So… all right, this may seem rather foolish, but I was sort of thinking about the Crossroads. How Morrigan said it was an in-between place somewhere between the Fade and the real world. And it sort of got me thinking, that if…” She shrugged and rubbed the folded letter between her fingers. “Well, I’m here. And Carver’s… whatever. He’s there in the Fade, his… you know, soul or spirit or collection of memories or whatever the fuck you want to call it.” She shrugged again and folded her arms. “So I sort of thought, you know — veilfire is sort of an in-between thing. Solas said it’s a reflection of Fade flames that burn here in the real world in places where the Veil is thin. So… well, Solas helped me light the veilfire, and… I don’t know, I was thinking…” She laughed lightly and rubbed her nose. “It’s so stupid. I don’t even believe in this shit—”

Fenris stepped closer to her and gently stroked her cheek. “Hawke,” he said. “Tell me what is on your mind. I will not think it is foolish.” 

She met his eyes, then released a heavy breath and spoke in a rush. “I thought if I wrote him this stupid letter and then burned it in the veilfire, maybe it’ll make its way to the Fade like those disturbing letters we found in the Fade from all those scared people. I mean, it’s not _really_ the same, I’m not scared or anything, and I have no idea how those letters even got there, but maybe if there’s any Carver left, he’ll float around in the Fade and find my letter. That’s all.”

Her tone was light and dismissive. The letter was getting slightly crumpled in her clenched fist, and she wasn’t looking at him. 

He gently tilted her chin up to face him. “It is a fine idea, Hawke. I mean that.”

A sudden tear slid down her cheek. She swiftly wiped it away and smiled. “So you don’t think I’m completely mad? That’s a relief.”

He shook his head. “It is a fine idea,” he repeated.

She nodded, and he lightly stroked her cheek once more before taking a step back. 

She took another deep breath, then stepped toward the veilfire brazier, and Fenris watched as she stood by the flickering green flame. The folded letter was clutched in her trembling hands, and for a moment, they simply stood in silence. 

Then she turned to face him. “Do you want to read it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to?” he said slowly.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Someone should. I mean, who am I kidding? There’s no… he’s not… he won’t see it. So someone should.” She smiled. “Proof that Rynne Hawke is capable of _not_ being an asshole, shall we say.” 

Her voice was trembling slightly despite her dismissive words. Fenris stepped close to join her and held out his hand. “I would be honoured to read it, if that’s your wish.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, then handed him the letter. He carefully unfolded it and began to read.

> _Hey Carv,_
> 
> _Fenris thought this would be a good idea. He’s much more clever than me, so here we are._
> 
> _You knew I didn’t love that you were a Templar. What I didn’t tell you is that you always tried to do the right thing, and I think that’s worth something. I tried, too — most of the time, at least ~~for all the good it~~ What I mean to say is that we're basically the same. We were the same all along, and stupid things like magic or Templar bullshit got in the way. I never ~~said~~ told you that I’m proud of you for being such a good warrior. I never told you I loved you. I’m really sorry that you’re not here for me to say it now and to give you a big hug that you’d probably pretend to hate but secretly you’d like. (You liked my hugs, right? Of course you did. I give great hugs.) So here it is. I love you, baby brother. I miss you already. ~~Tell Mother and Father and Bethany I said hello, if you~~ Don’t worry about me; Fenris and I are fine, thanks to you. _
> 
> _Once more for good measure: I love you._
> 
> _\- Rynne xoxo_
> 
> _P. S. Toby misses you too. He was hanging around with Cullen all afternoon. I think he’s trying to make up for you ~~being~~ not being around._
> 
> _P. P. S. One last boring time. I love you._

He swallowed hard, then re-folded the letter and looked at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, and the corners of her lips were trembling.

Fenris slid his fingers around the nape of her neck. An instant later, she was pressed against his chest with her arms tight around his waist, and he clutched her tightly to try and still the shaking of her slender frame. 

Some indeterminate time later, she pulled away from his embrace and sniffed hard, then took the letter from his hand. She stepped toward the brazier, and when she held the letter over the fire, her hand was steady. 

The eerie green flame licked at the corner of the letter. When the bottom half of the letter was aflame, Hawke dropped it into the brazier. Less than a minute later, the letter was gone: completely disintegrated without even a trace of ash left behind.

Fenris and Hawke quietly watched the dancing flames for a long moment. Then she turned to him with reddened eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

A pang of tenderness stole his breath for a moment. He took her hand and pulled her close. “Now you _are_ being foolish, to ask a question such as that.”

She smiled and curled her fists against his abdomen, but her smile slowly grew somber. “I just… just know I love you, all right? Don’t you _ever_ go thinking I don’t.”

Her expression was utterly serious. He swallowed the swelling lump in his throat, then nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, Hawke,” he murmured.

She tilted her chin up. “Good,” she whispered. She pressed herself onto her tip-toes and gently kissed his lips. 

Fenris kissed her back, and in the darkness of his closed eyelids, he savoured the multilayered meaning of this kiss. It was the soft and gentle pleasure of an affectionate embrace. It was a press of devotion exchanged between two people who couldn’t bear to be apart. It was an unbreakable promise, as strong and unbending as the silverite rings they wore. 

In the infinite tenderness of Hawke’s raspberry lips, Fenris reminded himself of what he had found: a reason to survive, and a reason to thrive. And a reason — _the_ most important reason — that he would keep leading the Inquisition until Corypheus had drawn his final misbegotten breath. 

Fenris loved Hawke. He would shield her from any further pain. And when all of this was done, they would finally have the free and peaceful life they had always imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Fenris’s experience in the Crossroads is borrowed from descriptions in _The Masked Empire_ , as well as from the way the Crossroads looks in Trespasser to an elven vs. non-elven Inquisitor. Just to let you guys know I didn’t invent that stuff. 
> 
> There will probably be one more chapter this month – late next week, I think. Then vacation time for me!
> 
> As always, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), if you fancy swinging by. xo


	30. Lyrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of this chapter makes reference to a relatively minor but _heavily-lore-implying_ conversation that you can have with Dagna after Adamant Fortress. I’ve transcribed it [here on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/186431242153/chatting-with-dagna-headcanons-and-analyses) if you want to read it, but it’s not essential.

Hawke made a face as she and Fenris made their way upstairs from the undercroft. “Well, that was… complicated. And, uh, _weird_.” She let out a weak little laugh. 

He grunted. He still wasn’t sure how he and Hawke had gotten sucked into such an intense discussion with Dagna about lyrium and the Fade. All he’d intended was to ask if she’d made any progress on figuring out how Samson was resistant to the maddening effects of red lyrium. But before he’d even had a chance to ask about Samson, Dagna was launching into an unnervingly enthusiastic explanation of her studies with the scrapings of Fade that she’d obtained from his armour after their return from Adamant Fortress. And as always seemed to be the case with anything involving the Fade, Dagna’s explanation was convoluted, confusing, and littered with more questions than answers.

Hawke’s voice broke through Fenris’s roiling thoughts as they made their way through the Great Hall. “You know, I feel rather foolish that I never thought about how dwarves and Tranquil might be linked. But as soon as Dagna said it, it just… there are odd parallels, don’t you think?” She looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “Neither of them can access the Fade. They’re both the only ones who can handle lyrium safely without suffering the ill-effects.”

“But dwarves are not entirely immune to lyrium. They are resistant, at most,” he pointed out. “If they were immune, Bartrand would not have been driven mad–”

“–by the red lyrium idol,” Hawke finished. “That’s true. I wonder…” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Do you suppose Tranquil are affected by red lyrium? Not that we should find out,” she said hastily as Fenris frowned. “But I mean… if the Tranquil _weren’t_ affected by it… what would that mean?”

Her expression was quizzical, but Fenris could only shrug. He was the last person who could provide any answers about this. Truth be told, Dagna’s talk had unnerved him more than he wanted Hawke to know. 

She was still talking about the Tranquil. “They can’t be totally unaffected by lyrium, though,” she was saying. “Anders said the Templars use a lyrium brand to make that horrible mark on a Tranquil’s forehead. So the lyrium is used to cut someone’s connection to the Fade. But… but mages use lyrium to _enhance_ our abilities to pull from the Fade.” She lowered her voice as they made their way through the rotunda and out toward the battlements that led to Cullen’s office. “But then there are the Templars, who use lyrium to power their abilities to _cancel_ magic.” She frowned and ruffled her hair as they walked along the battlements. “How the fuck does that make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris said quietly.

Hawke frowned and continued to tug thoughtfully at a lock of her hair. “I’m just… it’s… it’s so perplexing,” she said. “We use lyrium to enhance our magic, but Templars use it to cut off our magic. Templars also use lyrium to power their abilities to _cancel_ magic. But that ability that Carver used to stall the activity of the rift at Adamant seemed weirdly like...” 

She trailed off, and Fenris swallowed hard. His stomach was suddenly roiling. He could see only too clearly the implication that Hawke was heading toward, and he didn’t want to hear it.

She slowed down and took Fenris’s hand. “Hang on. Fenris,” she said slowly. “What if – do you suppose – do you think Templar powers might actually be a type of ma–”

“Hawke, I don’t know,” he snapped. 

Her eyebrows rose, and she released his hand. “Sorry. I’ll just talk about with Solas and Dorian, then.”

He sighed. “No. No, I…” He gently squeezed her arm. “That is not what I want. I want to understand this. It is just… difficult to think about.” He stared resentfully at the stark white lines that stained hands. “Lyrium features greatly in my suffering and my salvation. To realize now how little I understand of it…” He shook his head. “The irony is jarring. It… all of it is jarring.”

Hawke stepped closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I was thoughtless. I didn’t think about your tattoos and your… uh, the powers they… the powers,” she finished lamely. 

He offered her a feeble half-smile. For a moment they simply stood on the battlements with the cold mountain wind licking their faces, and Fenris continued to think about his own tattoos with growing discomfiture. 

Ever since that terrible conversation with Solas so many weeks ago, Fenris had refused to think too hard about his erstwhile magical powers that were now trapped within the lyrium scars on his skin. But he couldn’t ignore the connection any longer in the face of what Dagna had said. Magic came from the Fade, and lyrium was tied to the Fade, and the lyrium in his skin had both stripped him of his magic while preserving it for his use… 

Hawke was right. It _was_ perplexing. Fenris ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Hawke, I think… I would like to speak to your mages in the tower.”

She stared at him, then a slow smile lifted her cheeks. “Really?”

“Not about this,” he said quickly, with a dismissive gesture at his own body. “But about lyrium in general and its… uses. It seems careless that so many factions are reliant on it when we understand so little of its origins.” He frowned and gently pulled Hawke’s hand, and they continued on their route to Cullen’s office. “There are tomes about the use of lyrium as a supplement. Treatises about its ill effects on the Templar mind. But I have yet to see any documentation explaining what lyrium actually _is_.” 

“You should definitely ask in our tower then,” Hawke said eagerly. She happily swung his hand as they strolled along the battlements. “But why do you want to come to the tower specifically? Why not ask Solas or Dorian?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You realize that we don’t have any mage friends who belonged to a Circle? Who actually _enjoyed_ being part of the Circle, I should say.”

Hawke scoffed and squeezed his hand. “Speak for yourself. I’m friends with everyone.”

“I am serious,” Fenris said. “All of your friends are apostates. Or Dorian.”

Hawke shot him a chiding look. “They’re your friends too. Including Dorian.”

“You know what I mean,” Fenris insisted. “I would like to get a Circle mage’s perspective on this. They are more familiar with the Tranquil and with Templars, after all. They might be able to tell me more about… all of this.”

Hawke quirked her lips sadly. “They’re not as familiar with the Tranquil as you’d think. Most Circle mages are scared of the Tranquil, remember? They’re like a cautionary tale for a lot of us.” 

Fenris hummed a soft acknowledgement. She had a point about that. Fenris knew that Hawke herself both pitied the Tranquil and was unnerved by them, much as she tried to hide it. She was very friendly and jocular with the Tranquil who worked at Skyhold – moreso than her usual self – and in Fenris’s eyes, this only highlighted the extent to which she was uncomfortable around them. 

Hawke thoughtfully tapped her lips. “You could talk to Minaeve about them.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Minaeve? The creature specialist from Haven?”

“That’s the one,” Hawke said. “She likes the Tranquil. Looked after a bunch of them after her Circle fell. You could ask her sometime.”

Fenris nodded slowly, then looked at Hawke. “Will you come with me to speak with her?”

She smiled at him. “Of course I will. I’ll make you snacks for your visit too, just like I promised.”

He huffed in amusement and knocked on Cullen’s door. “The Rivaini nuts, remember. That is the only snack I will accept.” 

Hawke chuckled and playfully bumped his arm. They waited for a few seconds, but when Cullen didn’t reply, Fenris knocked a second time. 

To Fenris’s surprise, a scout opened the door. “Your Worship,” he said with a bow.

“It is just Fenris,” he said absently. He frowned slightly at the scout. “Is Cullen not here?”

“No, Your Wor– Fenris,” the scout said. “He’s speaking with the Lady Seeker, I believe.” 

Fenris nodded his thanks, and the scout retreated into Cullen’s office. Hawke looked up at Fenris. “Listen, I’m going to head to the tower and see if Minaeve can chat with us later today.”

“All right,” Fenris said. “I will speak with Cullen about Samson. I will find you later.”

She nodded, then planted a quick kiss on his lips before strolling away toward the mage’s tower. Fenris, on the other hand, trudged back the way they’d come and headed for Cassandra’s preferred training grounds instead. 

Neither Cassandra nor Cullen were outside, so Fenris made his way to the annex and pushed open the door. Cassandra and Cullen were standing by the hearth, and to Fenris’s surprise, they both looked angry. 

From what Fenris could tell, Cassandra seemed to be in the middle of berating Cullen about something. She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it,” she said. “Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word,” Cullen snapped. He was pacing restlessly in front of the fire. “It’s relentless! I can’t–”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Cassandra interrupted.

Cullen glared at her. “If I am unable to fulfil what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit–” He glanced toward the door, and his face fell in dismay. “Fenris! How long were you – er…”

“My apologies,” Fenris said cautiously. “Do you require privacy…?” He darted a glance from Cullen’s stricken face to Cassandra’s stubborn one. 

Cullen swallowed hard, then gave Fenris a half-bow. “Forgive me,” he said. He strode past Fenris and out the door.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “And people say _I’m_ stubborn. This is ridiculous.”

Fenris turned to her with raised eyebrows. “It appears I’ve come at a bad time.”

“No, in fact. I am glad you witnessed this,” she said. “I understand that he told you he’s no longer taking lyrium.”

“That’s right,” Fenris said. “An admirable path, but a difficult one, it seems.” In light of Fenris’s conversation with Dagna, Cullen’s decision to forgo lyrium was probably wiser than even Cullen realized. 

“Precisely,” Cassandra said. “But he is having difficulty with his decision today.” She sighed. “For a few days at least, if I am being frank.” 

Fenris frowned. “The withdrawal symptoms are getting worse? I thought he was handling them well.”

She pursed her lips. “He was. But recent events…” She trailed off and shook her head. “He has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It’s not necessary,” she said firmly. “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

Fenris stared at her. “A replacement? That seems extreme. I have not seen him make any decisions that would entail his resignation.”

“I quite agree,” Cassandra said. “His only lapse in judgment has been in asking me to replace him at all.” She gazed pensively at the fire. “Mages have always made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself and anyone who would follow suit that it’s possible.” She looked at Fenris. “He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall.”

“I agree with you,” Fenris said. “He has made it this far. There is no reason he cannot continue.”

“Perhaps you could convince him of that,” Cassandra said. 

“Me?” Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Why me? He told me he trusted your judgment on the matter.”

She huffed. “He was not interested in my judgment today. You, however…” Cassandra folded her arms and gave Fenris an appraising – and a decidedly approving – look. “He admires you. Looks up to you. He will listen to you if you speak to him.” 

Fenris tugged uncomfortably at his ear. “There is nothing to admire,” he muttered. “But if you think it will help…” 

Cassandra frowned. “Do not discount the value of your leadership, Fenris,” she said sternly. “Your decisions have brought us victories over Corypheus. The Maker has smiled on your actions time and time again. Your humility is admirable, but you must know that it is your actions and your determination that have brought us this far.”

He twisted his lips, then made his way toward the door. “I will speak with Cullen. Thank you.”

“Oh – Fenris, a moment, if you can spare it,” she said hurriedly. 

Fenris turned back to face her. To his surprise, she looked nervous.

He tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”

“I hope not, but I suspect that I am unfortunately wrong,” she said. “With your permission, I was hoping to make a small journey to–”

“Val Royeaux?” he said. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Val–? No. No, I was going to say to Caer Oswin. Leliana discovered that that is where Lord Seeker Lucius and the missing Seekers have gone. It was my hope to investigate. To find out what they have been doing there while this war has been waging on.” She frowned slightly. “Why did you think I wanted to go to Val Royeaux?”

He shrugged. “I thought you were hoping to attend the Chantry cleric meeting regarding the election of the new Divine.’

Cassandra’s confused expression melted into resignation. “Ah. You, too?”

He raised an eyebrow as he sidled back into the room. “I take it I am not the first person to ask you about this. My apologies if it is a sore topic.”

She smiled faintly and shook her head. “It is… not a sore topic, exactly. It is an important one, in fact. I do not resent Mother Giselle for her urgency. But the clerics simply speak my name for now, nothing more. For now, restoring order and stopping Corypheus remain our priority.”

He leaned against a nearby table and folded his arms. “Are you certain? I admit, I am somewhat surprised you aren’t more invested in the election of the next Divine.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Am I not the same woman who declared the Inquisition against the Chantry’s wishes?”

Fenris bowed his head. “Fair enough.” Her commitment to the Inquisition was the reason he’d sent that random Chantry mother away a few days ago, after all. 

Cassandra’s expression softened, and she leaned against the table beside him. “In all my years as a Seeker, I did what I was told. My faith demanded it,” she said. “But now, my faith demands something else: that I see through better eyes.”

Fenris gazed at her curiously. “If you were to become the Divine… you have a vision for the Chantry, I presume?”

She was quiet for a moment. When she looked at him once more, her expression was slightly sad. “You know Varric is Andrastian, yes?”

Fenris nodded. “Yes. But I regret to admit I only just learned this recently.” He grimaced ruefully. “I should have known it long ago. We have been friends for years.”

Cassandra wilted. “Unfortunately, that only highlights my point. Varric…” She shook her head. “He blasphemes with every second breath, but deep down, he believes. His heart is virtuous. But he would never step foot in a Chantry.” She lifted her sad gaze to Fenris’s face as well. “I have been thinking of what you said before. That there is little room in the Chantry’s eyes for elves, or anyone except for humans. That is not right. It is not what Andraste would have wanted. The Chantry should be the first place that the virtuous turn, no matter their race.” She pushed away from the table to stand in front of the fire again. “It needs to change. Perhaps I must be the one to change it.”

Fenris eyed her seriously. “Cassandra, if there is anyone who could change the Chantry for the better, it would be you.”

She smiled at him, but he wasn’t quite finished. “Do you want to be the next Divine?” he asked.

Her smile faded into a slight frown. “Why should what I want matter?” 

He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, twisted his lips in acknowledgement. This was Cassandra, after all. She and Fenris had similar views in many ways, but Fenris could openly admit that she was much more oriented to the greater good than he.

Sure enough, her words reflected his thoughts. “The Chantry needs to survive. To do that, it must change. I have never believed in asking another to do what you were unwilling to do yourself, so I look upon this as an opportunity,” she explained. “When Corypheus is defeated and my role with the Inquisition is done, I owe it to myself and all of Thedas to seek the Sunburst Throne.” She tilted her head. “You can understand this, I think. You did not want to be the Inquisitor, but you did not shirk this mantle.” 

The question was implicit in her words. Fenris gave a wry shrug. “You ascribe purer motivations to my actions than they deserve,” he said. “I saw no other choice but to become the Inquisitor. Hawke was safe from Chantry prosecution under the Inquisition. _I_ was kept safe under the Inquisition. Solas promised to study the mark and remove it if he could find a way.” He gestured feebly with his marred left hand. “We stayed with the Inquisition for the protection it provided, just like any other villager in Haven.” 

“That is why you stayed, yes,” Cassandra said. “But it is not why you became the Inquisitor. Those reasons alone are not enough to explain the assistance you have provided to those in need. The hope you have inspired among our people.” She lifted her chin confidently. “You may have remained with the Inquisition to protect yourself and Hawke. But you became our Inquisitor to protect everyone.” 

Fenris looked away from her toward the fire. Cassandra always seemed to see more goodness in his actions than they truly warranted. If he could transfer the mark to someone else and leave this job behind with Hawke and Toby at his side, he would do so in a heartbeat. 

But if Cassandra wanted to draw strength from his haphazard actions, he didn’t want to discourage her. 

He sighed quietly, then nodded to her. “Thank you, Cassandra. Your faith is... You honour me.”

She smiled and nodded in return. “It is my honour, Inquisitor.”

He scoffed quietly at her use of his title, and her smile broadened briefly before growing serious once more. “As I was saying: I was hoping to investigate the situation at Caer Oswin, if I may. I do not believe it will require more than a week; ten days at most.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want our assistance? Hawke and I can accompany you if you wish.”

“No, it is not necessary,” she said quickly. “You have more pressing issues to address. But if I may borrow some of our companions, I would be grateful.” 

“Of course,” Fenris said easily. “I wish you luck in your investigations, then.”

Cassandra smiled. “Thank you. Maker watch your steps, as well.”

Fenris headed straight for Cullen’s office. While he crossed the courtyard, he thought about Cassandra and the Chantry and the distant, nebulous, shining possibility of what might come _after_ Corypheus was defeated and the war was won. 

Generally speaking, he supported the idea of the Chantry regaining order again, especially under Cassandra’s guidance. The Circles may have dissolved, but like Cassandra, Fenris still believed in the principles of the Circle of Magi: places where mages could learn to control their magic under the supervision of the Templars. But Fenris also had to admit to being impressed at how well the Inquisition’s free mages had been governing themselves under the threefold guidance of Fiona, Solas and Hawke.

 _That speaks more highly of Hawke and the others’ guidance than it does of the mages they govern, however,_ Fenris thought. But that itself raised an entire new set of issues. Should a group’s value be entirely represented by its leader? If the Inquisition was represented by Fenris himself – someone who did not truly want to lead the group at all – did that speak ill or well of the Inquisition as a whole?

He shook off the philosophical thoughts he turned onto the parapet that led to Cullen’s office. What’s done was done; Fenris was the Inquisitor, and it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about his role when there were practical matters to be dealt with, such as how to weaken Corypheus’s second-in-command. 

He drew close to Cullen’s office and heard voices within. With some surprise, he recognized one of the voices as Hawke’s. 

“It’s okay, Cullen. Stop apologizing,” she said. “I’m actually thankful your aim wasn’t better.”

“You shouldn’t joke about this,” Cullen said in a harsh tone. “I could have injured you, I–”

He broke off with a grunt of pain, and Fenris heard a sudden crunch of broken glass. With mounting alarm, he shoved open the door to Cullen’s office. 

Cullen was leaning against the desk, and his face was twisted in obvious pain. Hawke was hovering beside him looking worried. Scattered across the floor was the detritus of a broken box and a shattered lyrium philter.

“What happened here?” Fenris demanded. He carefully stepped around the glass to approach Cullen’s desk and darted a look at Hawke. “Should we fetch a healer?”

“No,” Cullen snapped. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “No. What I need is for Cassandra to replace me.”

His voice and his face were tight with strain. Hawke wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Replace you? Why? As though anyone could fill your ridiculously handsome shoes.”

 _Kaffas,_ Fenris thought. Hawke didn’t know Cullen had stopped taking lyrium. Fenris hadn’t told her; it wasn’t his decision to share, after all.

Cullen roughly shook his head. “Please, Hawke, this is no laughing matter–” He broke off with another grunt and leaned more heavily on the desk.

Hawke briskly chivvied him toward his chair. “Sit down, will you? Maker’s balls, you’re making me nervous.” 

He feebly brushed her off and lifted his gaze to Fenris’s face. “Forgive me,” he rasped. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

Hawke’s expression was growing increasingly confused, but Fenris couldn’t explain; it wasn’t his place. “It is not interfering. You have never fallen lax in your duties,” he told Cullen.

“I am falling lax as we speak!” Cullen barked. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t – there are more important matters that you need – I didn’t want you to see me shaming myself like this.”

Hawke planted her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about? If you’re not feeling well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Even commanders get the flu sometimes.”

Fenris flicked his glance back to Cullen. The commander was staring pleadingly at him, and after a tense moment, Cullen nodded once, then lowered his head. 

Fenris turned to Hawke. “He stopped taking lyrium some time ago. That is what he’s going through.”

Her face went blank for a moment, then twisted with sympathy. “Cullen, you’re just going through withdrawal. It’s normal. It’s not your fault,” she said gently. “Besides, if you can’t be sick in front of your friends, where can you be sick?”

Cullen grunted in denial and shook his head, and Fenris shrugged internally; clearly the sympathetic route wasn’t working, so he would try something else.

He folded his arms. “What brought this on? You were doing well without the lyrium, or so I thought,” he said. “I had thought you would ask Cassandra for assistance if things grew difficult, not that you would give up your post.”

That got Cullen’s attention. He looked up in alarm. “I am not trying to – you don’t understand. That is _not_ my intent.” He bowed his head once more, and Fenris and Hawke waited tensely while Cullen breathed hard.

He inhaled deeply, then lifted his face and looked Hawke in the eye. “I never told you what happened to Ferelden’s Circle,” he said harshly. “It was taken over by abominations. The Templars, my friends, were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I…” He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve, so they… they sent me to Kirkwall.”

Hawke wilted and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh. Oh, fuck. Cullen…”

“I trusted the Knight-Commander,” he said. “I trusted Meredith to keep us and the city safe. And for what?” He glared at Hawke. “You were there. Both of you,” he said with a glance at Fenris. “You saw what happened. Meredith’s fear of mages ended in madness. Innocent people died in the streets.” He gazed pleadingly at her. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course,” Hawke said immediately. She stepped closer and squeezed his arm. “I think it’s really big of you to have left the Templars. So why–?”

“I thought this would be better,” he interrupted. “I thought that if I stopped the lyrium, I would regain some control of my life. But these… _thoughts_ won’t leave me!” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and began pacing nervously behind the desk. “How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this course! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry!”

His voice was steadily rising in volume and tension. Hawke darted an anxious look at Fenris, but Fenris was feeling rather apprehensive as well. It wasn’t unusual for Cullen to be tense or to raise his voice, but Fenris had never seen him this openly upset before. 

“Cullen, the past is gone,” Fenris said firmly. “You are moving past it, as we all are.” He waved to himself and Hawke. “You are committed to the Inquisition. No one is questioning that. What more do you think–”

Cullen looked at Hawke. “Your brother gave everything to the Inquisition,” he said. “He continued to take lyrium, and he served the Inquisition with his life.”

Hawke froze. 

Fenris frowned. “Cullen,” he said warningly, but Cullen took a step closer to Hawke. 

“Don’t you see?” he said. His face was tense with distress. “Carver’s sacrifice – what he did in the Fade to hold that Nightmare creature back: that was thanks to the lyrium. Carver took lyrium, and he fulfilled his duty. He gave _everything_ for the Inquisition.” His heaved in a desperate breath. “I should not give anything less than what Carver gave. I should be taking it!” He suddenly slammed a fist on his desk, making Hawke jump in alarm. “I should be taking it.”

A tear ran down Hawke’s cheek. Fenris shifted over to her side and opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said to Cullen.

The commander looked up in alarm at the hardness in her voice, and Fenris looked at her worriedly; tears were welling in her eyes, but her face was hard with anger. 

“Don’t you dare use Carver’s death as an excuse to go back to taking lyrium. You’re better than that,” she said. 

Cullen recoiled. “I am not – it is not an excuse!”

“You sure about that?” she retorted. “Because that’s what it sounds like to me. It was Carver’s choice to keep taking lyrium, and it was his choice to stay in the Fade. He took lyrium because he wanted to be a Templar. He sacrificed himself for the Inquisition because that’s what he wanted. It’s what he _wanted_ , Cullen.”

Cullen shook his head and started to turn away, but Hawke stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Do you want to take lyrium? Is that what you want?”

“No,” Cullen said loudly. “But…” He swallowed hard and waved roughly at his head. “These memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if – if I cannot endure this…”

Hawke scoffed. “Don’t be fucking stupid. You endured torture at the hands of abominations when you were barely more than a child. You endured bloody Meredith for almost a decade. You can endure this.”

He exhaled shakily. For a long, tense moment, they all stood in silence while Cullen collected himself. 

Finally he drew a deep, steady breath. “All right. All right, I… I will proceed without the lyrium.” 

Hawke released his arm and patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Good boy,” she said. “Now, maybe we should sweep up all this lovely sparkly glass–”

“Hawke,” Cullen said suddenly. He swallowed hard as she turned to face him once more. “I have been meaning to say… I am terribly sorry for Carver’s loss. For your every loss. I did not tell you so when we were in Kirkwall, I – the differences between us… But your mother and Bethany–”

“Shut the fuck up,” she interrupted. 

He stopped talking and raised his eyebrows, and Fenris watched her warily; she was glaring fiercely at Cullen. A moment later, she strode toward Cullen and hugged him hard around the neck. 

Cullen’s jaw was clenched as he returned her hug, and Fenris’s shoulders relaxed as he watched their embrace. A long, quiet moment later, Hawke pulled away with a shaky laugh.

“If I knew this was going to turn into a sobfest, I’ve had brought some brandy,” she said. She playfully chucked Cullen’s stubbled cheek. “Warn me next time before you get all soppy on me, all right?”

He gave a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will try.” 

She smiled and affably punched his arm, then finally turned to Fenris. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Fenris tenderly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Are you all right?” he murmured.

She laughed. “Aside from being an inch away from dehydration from all the crying? I’m wonderful.” She quickly kissed his cheek, then sauntered toward the door. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and she sauntered away.

The Commander, meanwhile, was crouching on the floor and picking up the bigger pieces of wood and glass, and he looked up as Fenris turned to face him. “I apologize, Fenris. It was not my intention to upset her,” he said. 

Fenris shook his head and crouched down to help. “On the contrary. Thank you for your condolences. That was kind of you.”

Cullen shook his head. “It was the least I could do. She… she jokes, but she means well.”

“Yes, she does,” Fenris said quietly. He and Cullen tidied the worst of the mess, and Fenris watched pensively as Cullen carried the broken bits of glass and wood over to the trash bin beside his desk.

“What are the worst symptoms?” Fenris asked. 

Cullen shot him an apprehensive look, but Fenris waited quietly until the commander’s shoulders slumped slightly. “It’s, um, nightmares. They… the lyrium quieted them. Without it, they… they are persistent.”

“You have tried meditation?” Fenris said.

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Unfortunately, it is not effective every night.”

Fenris nodded slowly. His first thought was to suggest Cole’s help, but he stayed his tongue. Cullen had never grown comfortable around Cole, so he was unlikely to accept Cole’s particular brand of assistance even at the best of times. Given the spirit boy’s recent anxiety, now could not be described as the best of times.

Before Fenris could find another suggestion, however, Cullen dismissively waved a hand. “Please, Fenris, don’t concern yourself. You have matters to attend. You must have had a proper reason for coming to see me.”

Fenris ignored his diversion. “You should ask for help,” he said.

Cullen pursed his lips obstinately but didn’t speak, so Fenris went on. “After my… when these tattoos were given to me, I had no choice but to endure the pain alone. You do not need to endure it alone. It is a needless sacrifice.”

Cullen sighed and hung his head. Fenris folded his arms and shrugged. “Hawke and I are often awake late into the night. If a midnight game of chess would help to calm your mind, you can call on us. Or on Dorian, perhaps,” he added innocently. “He mentioned wanting a rematch with you as of late.”

Cullen looked up, then smirked. “Now you are purposely taunting me.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said with a smirk of his own. “Is it working?”

Cullen chuckled. “More than I care to admit.” His smirk softened into a smile. “Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate it, truly.” He straightened up and rested his fingers on his desk. “In the meantime, was there something you needed?”

An hour or so later, Fenris left Cullen’s office. He wanted to speak to Hawke and make sure she was all right, but he wasn’t sure where she would have gone after leaving him and Cullen to talk. 

He headed in the direction of the mage tower, but he spotted her before he could reach the tower: she was leaning against the battlements accompanied by Toby and Cole. Toby was sitting obediently at her side, and Cole was sitting precariously on the edge battlements as was his custom. 

Cole seemed relaxed for once; his hands were resting peacefully in his lap, and his expression was pleasantly vacant. He was talking to Hawke as Fenris approached. 

“It whispers, waiting, keeping him company. Where it starts and he ends, she doesn’t know, but she loves him all the same.” He blinked benignly before looking out into garden below. “She never thought she would be good at this. He grew on her, _in_ her, grows over her: taller and wiser and more ineffable every day. But he’ll always be her little man.”

“Uh-huh,” Hawke said slowly. She gave Fenris a surreptitious wink as he approached. “That’s… very illuminating, Cole. Thank you.”

Cole tilted his head. “Why? I didn’t do anything. Not yet. But I will,” he assured her. 

She smiled and bumped Cole’s arm with her shoulder. “Thanks, Cole. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep, honestly.”

Cole nodded again. “I will help,” he said simply. Then he disappeared. 

Toby cocked his head quizzically. Hawke scratched behind his ears. “Come on, boy, you should be used to it by now.”

Fenris settled his elbows on the battlements beside her. “You asked Cole to take your dreams?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded and leaned into his arm. “At least so I can sleep normally, you know? I just want to feel _something_ normal. I’m so sick of all the boo-hoo-poor-Rynne and being so sad all the time.”

“I know,” he said softly. He idly ran his fingers along her spine, and for a while they simply watched the residents of Skyhold milling around the garden. 

While they watched the puttering in the garden, Fenris thought about Hawke and her grief. She was seeming more her normal self, but then there would be conversations like the one she’d had with Cullen, and it was hard seeing her in so much pain. 

He nibbled the inside of his cheek, then finally asked her a question he’d been wondering since they’d left Adamant Fortress. “Hawke, when… when your mother died. How did you… Did you feel this way then as well?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, as though it was obvious. “That was worse, even. Her death was such a…” She swallowed hard, then gave him a crooked smile. “It was just… we were so close to stopping it, you know? But I didn’t get to her in time, and – well, you remember.” She ran a hand through her hair, then casually waved her hand. “Thank fuck for that whole Arishok business blowing up when it did, right? It was almost a relief to have such a marvelously epic distraction, to be honest.”

Fenris squeezed her arm. The guilt was like a weight in his belly, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t stop it from rushing out of his mouth. 

“Hawke,” he blurted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there after Leandra’s passing. After that first night, that is. I… it was selfish of me to keep a distance when you needed me–”

She groaned, then clasped Fenris’s face in her hands. “Your turn now to shut the fuck up. I’m so _sick_ of apologies. I just want to start feeling normal again.” She kissed him firmly on the lips, then released his face and elbowed him. “What did Cullen say about Samson? More importantly, when are we going off on the next adventure?”

Fenris tenderly studied her smiling face, but with less worry than before. Hawke might be sick of crying, but at least she was finally talking about Carver’s death with Fenris, and with others as well. There had been no more terrifying mentions of sacrificing herself for Fenris’s sake, and her good humour seemed more genuine than compensatory. 

Slowly but surely, Hawke was healing from this loss, and Fenris was unequivocally relieved. 

To that end, though, he understood her desire for a new distraction: something to keep her mind busy to avoid sinking into the morass of sadness that the thoughts of her family inevitably caused.

“We can leave as early as tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll be going to Emprise du Lion. Leliana’s scouts have found major Red Templar activity there. Cullen believes investigating will help us undermine Samson’s plans.”

“Perfect,” Hawke said with relish. “And what’s the weather like in Emprise du Lion?”

“Frigid,” he said bluntly. “The river supplying the settlement there flash-froze with no explanation.”

She stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Well, never let it be said that you never take me anywhere nice.”

Fenris smirked and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunate that the Red Templars don’t seem to settle anywhere with a decent beach.”

“It really is,” Hawke said cheerfully. “Ah well, I’m sure we’ll find ourselves some enemies soon that enjoy good weather. A little fighting to the death, a little topless sunbathing…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe a little topless fighting to the death to shake things up…”

He huffed in amusement. “You’re an idiot,” he informed her.

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.”

He gave her a chiding half-smile, then kissed her lightly on the lips. Tomorrow, they would set out on their next journey. Hawke would return to feeling more like herself, and they would resume their normal activities.

As normal as anything ever was with the Inquisition, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know who Cole was talking about there, right? [insert eye emoji]
> 
> All right, friends, I will be on vacation next week! Fen and the crew will return in August! Have patience with me, please – I adore you all :3 
> 
> In the meantime, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to reach out. xo


	31. Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Welcome back after our little break! <3 
> 
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Hawke shivered and rubbed her arms. “You know, I think I’ve been spoiled by Skyhold. It’s all lovely and warm there with the elven magic and all. It’s made me go soft.”

Fenris glanced at her as they picked their way through the destroyed village on the way to Suledin Keep. She did look exceptionally cold. 

“Would you care for my cloak?” he said.

She batted her eyelashes at him. “So chivalrous, you are,” she purred. “But no. I’ll just keep complaining. This way I’ll distract everyone else from how cold _they_ are.” 

Varric chuckled. “Thanks, Hawke. That’s really helpful.”

“That’s me,” she chirped. “Always being as useful as possible.” She elbowed Dorian, who was trudging through the snow beside her. “How are you holding up, northern boy? Maybe _you_ need Fenris’s cloak.”

“I would, if his cloak wasn’t such a marvelously mundane shade of murky green,” Dorian said. He shot Fenris a mocking pout. “What happened to your black one? It suited you far better. It would have suited _me_ far better.”

Fenris didn’t bother to look at him. “This one is warmer. I prefer to choose my clothes for—” 

“— function over form and so on, I know. More’s the pity.” Dorian shot him a sly look. “You know, if you had something tailored, it could be both attractive and functional…”

Fenris shot him a flat look. “Dorian. I don’t need tailoring. In fact, nobody _needs_ tailoring.” 

Dorian laughed. “Tell that to Josephine the next time you have to go to an Orlesian function.”

Fenris gave Hawke a long-suffering look. “I thought this conversation about clothing and tailors would end with the wedding.”

“Apparently not,” she said cheerfully. “For what it’s worth, I think you look handsome in everything.”

Her smile was wide and wicked, and Fenris shot her a forbidding look. He knew exactly what she was about to say next. “Don’t,” he warned.

Heedless of his warning, she sidled up to him leaned in close to his ear. “I also think you look even more handsome in nothing at all,” she murmured.

He huffed and shook his head. “You are shameless.” 

“Of course I am,” she said. She twined her fingers with his. “Lucky for me that skin-to-skin contact is the best way to stay warm.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look. Her voice was quiet, but to her left, Dorian was smirking. “Later, Hawke,” he muttered. 

She chuckled. “I hope that’s a promise,” she whispered. She released him and strolled over to Blackwall instead. “Blackwall, are you all right? You’ve been terribly quiet since we raided the quarry.” 

He gave her a small smile. “I’m just fine.”

She looped her hand through his elbow. “Come now, I don’t buy that. You look like someone stole your favourite puppy.” 

He sighed. “I suppose I’ve just been thinking—”

“You? Thinking?” Dorian said archly. “Quick, someone send a raven to Skyhold so Maryden can write a ballad in honour of the occasion.”

Blackwall shot Dorian a venomous look, and Fenris and Varric exchanged a quick glance. Blackwall and Dorian had been sniping at each other on and off the whole time they’d been in Emprise du Lion. Fenris was growing rather weary of it, but he was biting his tongue, especially after Varric had pointed out — to Fenris’s chagrin — that he and Anders had carried on far worse during their seven years in Kirkwall. 

Hawke, on the other hand, had spent the trip trying to smooth things over with flirting and jokes. She seemed to have reached the end of her rope today, however. “All right, all right, you’re both manly men with giant weapons and beautiful facial hair,” she snapped. “Now please shut up.” She turned pointedly to Blackwall again. “Thinking about what?” 

“About the Templars, I suppose,” he said. “And the Grey Wardens. They were all just trying to do the right thing, and Corypheus used their morals against them.”

She grimaced. “I know. It’s a rather shit deal, isn’t it?” She patted his arm comfortingly. “We’ll stop Coryfish, though. He’ll get his comeuppance sooner than later.”

He shook his head sadly. “You make it sound easy. But how many more people will die before Corypheus does? How many more good people will be corrupted before we stop him?” He sighed. “It’s not right. To want to do good, to _be_ good, and have that turned against you.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Then Varric chuckled. “Damn, hero. You’ve been having a real existential crisis over there, haven’t you?”

Hawke shot him a quick grin, then turned back to Blackwall. “You’re right. It sucks to try and do the right thing and have it blow up in your face. But what else can you do?” She shrugged. “You’ve got to trust your gut, right? Keep on moving forward. What other choice is there?”

“But how do you know you can trust your gut?” Blackwall asked. “Warden-Commander Clarel’s intentions were righteous. Her desire to protect was so great it led her astray. How do you know if your intentions are guiding you down the right path?” He looked askance at Fenris. “You’ve brought us this far. Everything you’ve done has led us to victory. How did you know that everything would go well?”

Fenris wearily rubbed his hair through his hood. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him that people thought he actually had a plan for taking Corypheus down, or that he was always in control of everything that happened. This was the way of so-called ‘heroes’, after all; most people never saw the uncertainty and the terrible choices and the sheer dumb fortune — or lack thereof — that conspired to result in any given outcome. It had been the same with Hawke back in Kirkwall; she won one duel with the Arishok, a terrible duel in which she’d almost died, and suddenly she had the reputation of being the only person who could keep the entire city safe.

A reputation that had nearly gotten her killed.

He looked at Blackwall. “I didn’t know that everything would go well,” he said bluntly. In his opinion, everything _hadn’t_ gone well since the Inquisition had begun; they’d lost people at Haven, and they had lost many soldiers at Adamant, and he had left Carver behind in the Fade. “No one can know for certain that their course of action is right. It is as Hawke said; you must trust your instincts. And the instincts of the people you trust,” he added, with a glance at Hawke. “And you must move forward.” 

A memory of Carver’s determined face flashed across his mind. He breathed through the guilt, then looked at Blackwall again. “There is no point sitting stagnant in the regrets of what might have been if you’d made another choice. There is only forward,” he said. 

Blackwall’s expression was attentive but melancholy, and Fenris felt another little writhing of guilt in his gut. He’d ultimately told Stroud and the Wardens to remain at Weisshaupt until Corypheus was eliminated, and he knew Blackwall wasn’t pleased about the decision. Fenris had initially considered telling only the Warden mages to remain at Weisshaupt, but Hawke had immediately argued the idea, saying it was barely a step away from imprisoning them in a Circle and that it would send a terrible message about mages in general to the rest of Thedas. So Fenris had reluctantly agreed to isolate all the Wardens to Weisshaupt until further notice. 

It was a decision that Fenris was still not entirely comfortable with, particularly given the darkspawn presence that Harding had reported in the Storm Coast. But Fenris didn’t feel informed enough about the Warden’s secretive ways to be entirely comfortable with their joining the Inquisition, so this seemed the more prudent option for now. 

Hawke squeezed Blackwall’s arm. “Come on, Blackwall, you don’t need to worry. You’re one of the good ones. If you weren’t, Fenris would kick you out of Skyhold in a heartbeat.”

Blackwall heaved a heavy sigh, then nodded. “I hope so, my lady.” He winced and pulled a copper out his pocket, then handed it to her. “Sorry, Hawke.”

She smiled and pocketed the coin. “No harm done.”

Fenris looked at them in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Blackwall is giving me a copper every time he calls me ‘my lady’,” she said.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because I’m not a fucking lady, obviously.” She smiled cheekily at Blackwall. “We’re breaking a bad habit one copper at a time.”

“I dunno, Hawke,” Varric said. “You did get the Amell name restored, so I think technically—” 

She groaned. “That was in Kirkwall. We’re not in Kirkwall anymore.”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “That’s true.”

She shot him a guilty look, then slung an arm around his neck. “Don’t _you_ get mopey on me now. When Corytits is dead, maybe we can all go back to Kirkwall for a bit.”

He looked at her and Fenris in surprise. “You’d come back to Kirkwall? Seriously?”

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a nonplussed look. They’d somehow never discussed settling in Kirkwall when this war was over. In truth, Fenris had a hard time imagining them returning to a life in Kirkwall after everything that had happened there. 

“I… don’t know. Maybe?” Hawke said. She pulled a face at Fenris. 

He shrugged. “Perhaps. For a visit, at least.” 

“Mm. Yeah, a visit would be nice,” Varric said. He rubbed his nose. 

Hawke’s face crumpled, and she hugged Varric more tightly around the neck. “Oh, Varric, stop it,” she begged. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He cleared his throat and patted her arm. “Ah, come on, Hawke, don’t do that. Your tears will freeze on your face.”

She gave a shaky little laugh and kissed the top of his head, and Fenris watched them with an ache behind his sternum. He felt rather stupid now for not realizing that Varric had probably missed them — especially Hawke — during their two years in hiding. Hawke wasn’t the only one who considered their Kirkwall group to be family, after all. 

Varric looked up and met his eye, and Fenris grimaced and shrugged helplessly, uncertain what to say. They continued their trek toward Suledin Keep in an increasingly awkward silence. 

Thankfully — or perhaps not so thankfully — Dorian broke the silence. “I’m sorry, but is no one going to protest the fact that Hawke is essentially robbing Blackwall of his coin?” 

Blackwall raised his eyebrows. “Since when do _you_ care about me getting robbed?”

“Since it means you have less coin for personal hygiene products, of course,” Dorian said disdainfully. He shot Hawke a pleading look. “At least use some of that coin to buy him some soap. Consider this a heartfelt plea.”

Blackwall grunted. “You know, some of us have better things to do than spend hours preening in front of the mirror like pompous prats.”

“That’s true,” Dorian said. “Like rolling around in the stables with the other hairy beasts. That is what you’ve been doing, yes? That’s certainly what it smells like.”

Blackwall scowled, but Hawke turned to Dorian before Blackwall could reply. “I didn’t hear you complaining about bodily smells when you were talking to Bull the other day.”

For a split second, Dorian’s eyes went wide — tellingly wide. Then he flicked some snow from his collar. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Hawke cackled and skipped over to him. “You know exactly what I mean. And if you didn’t want anyone to know about you and Bull, maybe you shouldn’t have been talking about it so loudly right in the middle of the courtyard.” 

“Wait,” Blackwall said. He stared at Dorian. “You and Bull are canoodling?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “ _Canoodling?_ Oh, my. I didn’t realize you were a prissy octogenarian. Shall we buy you a cane during the next trip to Val Royeaux?” 

Blackwall grunted, but Varric grinned. “I don’t hear a denial there, Sparkler.” 

Hawke snickered and elbowed Dorian. “Me neither.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian muttered. He shot them a resentful look. “For such a large castle, there’s certainly no privacy to be had at Skyhold.”

Hawke tutted and linked her arm with Dorian’s. “Oh come now, Dorian, we gossip about everyone. Why should you be exempt?”

“My dear Hawke, we gossip in _private,_ ” Dorian retorted. “If we’re talking publicly about everyone’s sex lives, let’s talk about yours and Fenris’s.”

“No,” Fenris said loudly. 

Hawke tutted again. “Fine, fine. You’ll dish in private, then? Later?” She gazed imploringly at Dorian. 

He rolled his eyes. “You really are an intractable pervert. I don’t know how Fenris copes with you.” He gave her a mocking look. “Should I draw diagrams for you? Would that be sufficiently entertaining?”

“Ooh, yes,” she said with relish. “I’ve been looking for some good reading material. I’ve run out of Randy Dowagers to read.”

“If you’re looking for something smutty, you can always ask Cassandra,” Varric said. “Maybe she’ll lend you the chapters I wrote her if you ask her really nicely.”

Hawke whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. “You wrote smut? Already? Aren’t you only about three chapters in?”

“Five, actually,” Varric said. “I found some time before we left Skyhold.” 

Hawke whistled and released Dorian’s arm. “Good on you. All right, you’ve got my attention. Tell me more.”

Varric and Hawke sank into a discussion of Varric’s writing, and Dorian breathed a soft sigh of relief. He and Fenris walked side-by-side in silence for some time.

“Is it serious?” Fenris said quietly.

Dorian groaned. “Oh, not you too. You’re as bad as your wife.”

Fenris shrugged. “Fair enough.” He said nothing more.

A minute later, Dorian spoke again, very quietly. “I don’t know what it is. It’s only happened twice.” There was a brief, pregnant pause. “All right, fine, three times.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgment. “Are you happy when you’re together?”

Dorian shot Fenris an odd look, almost as though Fenris was trying to trick him. Then he scoffed. “I can just imagine the stories everyone will tell. The evil Vint magister and the big boorish qunari taking over Thedas one sordid sexcapade at a time. The rumours will be worse than the ones they were making up about you and me.”

It didn’t escape Fenris’s notice that Dorian hadn’t answered his question. “They don’t know you. Ignorant tongues speak nothing of value,” he told Dorian. “You know that.” He thought of Hawke and the way she’d always defiantly faced down anyone who disdained her for mating with a knife-ear. 

“Ah, Fenris. So innocent about the weight of a good rumour,” Dorian said playfully. “Or a bad rumour, I should say. I do enjoy your naiveté in this, it’s one of your most endearing traits.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Do not mistake my words for naiveté. I know whose opinion matters and whose doesn’t. Do you?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, then looked away. They walked in silence for another minute. Then Dorian shrugged and smirked. “Maybe I am happy. Or maybe I’m entirely mad. Happiness and madness can be so difficult to distinguish, can’t they? They’re both accompanied by such a lovely little state of euphoria.”

He was deflecting, exactly as Hawke did when she was disturbed by something. Fenris glanced at him, then reluctantly switched to Tevene. “ _It is difficult,_ ” he said. “ _Liking someone that you thought you should hate on principle._ ”

Dorian raised his eyebrows at the language change, then chuckled. “ _Charming though these overtures may be, you don’t have to butter me up. We’re already friends._ ”

Fenris gave him a serious look. Finally, at long last, Dorian’s shit-eating smile slowly faded. 

“ _You don’t think this is just a foolish lark, then?_ ” he said. “ _Dorian Pavus going off and pulling another shameless act of debauchery?_ ”

Fenris gazed at him in exasperation. “ _When have I ever accused you of debauchery? Arrogance, perhaps. Being smug, perhaps. Having overly coiffed hair—_ ”

“ _I knew you liked something about me,_ ” Dorian quipped.

Fenris ignored him. “ _Do you think it’s a foolish lark?_ ”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Dorian snapped. He took a deep breath and started twisting one of his gold rings around his finger. “ _I… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a lark. I haven’t… been with anyone since leaving home._ ”

Fenris shrugged. “ _For that reason alone, perhaps it is a good thing. A way to break from the chains that Tevinter society placed on you._ ”

They walked quietly for another minute. Then Fenris spoke again, this time in the common tongue. “I hope you can trust him. He is still a qunari spy.”

“ _Fasta vass._ I knew you didn’t approve,” Dorian complained. 

Fenris frowned. “That is not what I said. And why do you care if I approve?”

Dorian stared at him in exasperation. “Do you even listen to a word out of your own perfectly pouty mouth?” He put on a mocking baritone voice. “‘Rely on the instincts of the people you trust. Know whose opinion matters.' And then you go and ask why I care what you think.” He snorted and continued to fight his way through the knee-deep snow.

Fenris doggedly strode through the snow beside him. “You want my opinion.”

“And finally the Inquisitor catches on,” Dorian said waspishly. 

Fenris bit back his irritation. “My opinion is this. You _should_ trust your own instincts. I am not your father,” he said severely. “I am not going to place judgement on whom you lie with. Just be careful.” 

Dorian pressed his lips together and didn’t speak. After a moment of tense silence, he sighed. “Thank you. I… I appreciate your concern. Truly.”

Fenris shrugged and didn’t look at him. “Thank me by _not_ drawing diagrams for Hawke. I do not want to see them tacked on the wall of our bedroom.”

Dorian grinned at him. “And why would she tack them on the wall of your bedroom, pray tell? Inspiration, perhaps?” He gasped playfully. “Are we about to gossip about your sex life after all?”

Fenris snorted in disgust. “I regret saying anything.” He turned on his heel and started to return to Hawke and Varric. 

“We’ll pick up this discussion later, then!” Dorian called after him. “Perhaps over tea and those little frilly cakes that Solas is so partial to.” 

Fenris ignored him. A moment later, however, the distinctive sounds of clashing swords reached his ears, followed by the distinctive roar of a rage demon. 

He whipped around to look. Suledin Keep was less than a hundred paces away, and a lone blond figure was valiantly fighting two red Templars and a handful of demons. 

“Shit,” Hawke said. 

“That’s the chevalier guy,” Varric said. “Michel.”

“Let’s move,” Fenris snapped, and they bolted toward the entry to the Keep. 

A few minutes later, the red Templars were dead and the demons were scattered to the wind, and Fenris and their party were catching their breath along with the lone chevalier. 

“Herald,” he said. He bowed quickly to Fenris. “Your efforts at the quarry have not gone unnoticed. The demon Imshael sent a pack of shades to Sahrnia. I must go back and defend the villagers. Please, destroy Imshael before he escapes.” Without waiting for a response, Michel sheathed his sword and bolted away – but not before doing a quizzical double-take at Blackwall. 

Hawke raised an eyebrow at Michel’s departing back, then turned to Blackwall. “That was odd. Do you know him?” 

“No,” Blackwall said brusquely. He nodded toward the Keep. “Let’s stop this demon.” 

Fenris nodded agreement, and they began to make their way carefully through Suledin Keep. The fortress was enormous and the potential threat of enemy numbers was great, so they moved as silently as they could through the snow and stuck to corners and shadows to retain the element of surprise. 

The steady trickle of Templars they encountered were easy enough to ambush. But when they reached the cages containing the red lyrium-infested corpses of giants, they all took pause. 

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke breathed. She peered into the cage. “Poor bastards.”

“Poor them?” Dorian said archly. “Poor us, I say, if these mad Templars managed to tweak their red lyrium recipe properly.” He grimaced as he studied the grisly corpses.

Varric, meanwhile, was standing some distance away from the cages. “Careful, Hawke,” he said tensely. “Don’t get too close to that stuff.”

“It’s all right, Varric,” she said soothingly. “We all have our charms from Dagna. We’re safe.” 

“Not entirely safe,” Fenris reminded her. “It is still as toxic as regular lyrium.” He walked over to her and gently took her arm. “Come. Varric is right. We should move on.” 

They moved away from the cages and through another snow-encrusted arch, and Dorian wilted in dismay. “ _Kaffas_. Of course.” 

Thirty paces away, a giant was stomping around and blocking the path ahead. Red crystals were sprouting from its shoulders and back, and there were three red Templars standing guard around it. 

They crowded back against the wall out of sight. “Fuck,” Hawke muttered. “How did they tame it? I thought giants were really wild.” 

“It’s a good question,” Dorian whispered. “You would think the red lyrium would render it wilder than usual.” 

Fenris shook his head. “Red lyrium sickens them. That’s what all the notes we found have said. Sicken them slightly to make them more compliant, while also making them stronger…”

Blackwall furrowed his brow. “That makes no sense.”

“Since when does any of this shit make sense?” Varric muttered. 

Fenris huffed in agreement. He could only hope the Inquisition’s mages would have more information on lyrium when they next returned to Skyhold. “In any case, we must move on.” He looked around at their little group. “We all know what to do.” 

They murmured assent, and Fenris quickly squeezed Hawke’s hand before leading her quietly toward the giant by skirting the sides of the castle walls. Once they were all in position, Fenris nodded to Hawke and Dorian. 

Two rings of flame erupted around the Templars and the giant, and the frozen air was rent with the sounds of anguished screams and angered roaring. The warm tingle of Hawke’s barrier settled over Fenris’s shoulders, and he bolted toward the Templars while Blackwall ran at the giant with a battle cry. 

The red Templars were dispatched without too much fuss; their combat style was relatively predictable, especially after studying their strategies while decimating their operations in the quarry, and it was a simple enough matter for Fenris and Varric to kill the Templars without further magical help. 

The giant, however, was another matter. After several long, gruelling minutes of combat, its flesh was crackling with burns and wet with blood from Fenris and Blackwall’s strikes, but it was still roaring and flailing its long arms as though it had hardly been harmed. 

“Damn, it’s strong,” Varric panted. He loaded three more bolts into his crossbow and scowled up at the enormous creature. “What are we supposed to do?” 

“Let’s hamstring it,” Blackwall shouted. “Get it on its knees, then bash its sorry head.”

“Try it,” Fenris yelled. It was as good a plan as any; sheer brute force was clearly not working. 

Unfortunately, before they could enact the plan, the giant grabbed an enormous boulder and lifted it overhead, then turned toward Hawke and Blackwall with a roar. 

Fenris’s stomach lurched in horror, and he bolted toward them. But just before the boulder came smashing down, Hawke thrust her hand toward the giant and clenched her fist. 

The giant froze, entrapped in a cage of blazing white light. “Got you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Dorian, hamstring the fucking thing.”

Dorian swung his staff in a lashing motion, and a bladelike projectile of ice slashed through the backs of the giant’s thighs straight to the bone. 

Hawke lowered her hand, breaking the cage of light, and the giant fell to its knees with a shriek of agony. With a roar of battle rage, Fenris slammed his blade into the beast’s skull.

He and Blackwall hacked at the giant’s head and neck until it finally fell facefirst into the snow with a thundering _crash_. For a moment, they stood in shocked silence catching their breath and staring at the giant’s bleeding body.

Fenris trudged over to Hawke’s side, then unstrapped a bottle of lyrium solution from her belt and removed the cap. He silently handed her the bottle, and she took it with a nod and drank it down. 

She wiped her mouth and placed the empty bottle back on her belt, then smiled at him. “That was fun. Let’s never do that again, shall we?”

He managed a half-smile as he studied her face. Her lips were turning blue and her normally-golden skin was bleached from the cold, but she looked strong enough despite using her most mana-sapping spell. 

He forced himself to breathe normally. “And you said we never go anywhere fun,” he drawled. 

“I believe that was me,” Dorian put in. “And it’s true. You never bring me anywhere fun.” He adopted a mocking voice. “‘Oh, the coldest place in all of Thedas, where red lyrium crystals compete for territory with human-sized pillars of ice. You know who would adore such a place? Dorian.’” He disdainfully rearranged his dishevelled hair.

Fenris cast him an exasperated look as he helped Hawke to step over the giant’s body. “Do you want to come on these trips or not? It would not be difficult to leave you behind.” 

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” Blackwall said acidly.

Dorian shot them an affronted look. “What, and deprive you of my scintillating insights and intelligent badinage? Perish the thought.” 

Varric chuckled weakly and patted Fenris’s elbow. “Come on, let’s get this party moving. This fortress doesn’t seem like it’s gonna clear itself, unfortunately.”

And so it was a weary party that continued the foray through the keep. They moved more cautiously than before, wary of conserving their energy and mana; Fenris was quite sure the showdown with the demon would be a significant trial, based on what Michel had told them back at Sahrnia when they’d first arrived in Emprise du Lion a few days ago. 

Unfortunately, the path through the enormous keep only became more populated with enemies, including one more giant and a number of large demons. By the time they had nearly reached the top of the tower, all of them were bloodied — albeit healed thanks to Hawke — and Hawke was down to her last lyrium potion. 

She blew out an angry breath and glared at the faintly steaming piles of ichor that had been a rage demon just a few minutes ago. “All right, I’ve had enough of this. Let’s kill this fucking Imshael thing already so I can find a hot bath.” 

She was shivering, and Fenris wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or exhaustion. He unclipped his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. 

She shook her head and tried to brush him off. “No, I don’t need it—” 

“It hinders my movement,” Fenris said. It was only a small lie; it did hinder him a bit, but that hardly mattered when he was able to skate along the edge of the Fade with his lyrium tattoos. “Keep it for me.” 

She frowned at him, then blew out a sharp breath. “All right. Fine. Let’s go, shall we?”

Fenris quashed a jolt of worry in his gut. If she was giving in so quickly, she must be more tired than she looked. 

They moved toward the door, and Fenris surreptitiously took her hand. “Stay far back,” he murmured to her. “Be cautious, Hawke.” 

“I know, I know,” she said. She squeezed his hand in turn. “No running in headfirst, I promise. I’ve got your back.”

He nodded and bit his tongue to stop himself from nagging her any further. Then Dorian appeared at her other side. 

“My gift to you,” he said, and he offered her a bottle of lyrium.

She frowned and pushed it back at him. “Dorian, come off of it. You need that.”

“You’ve been doing all the healing, if you didn’t notice,” Dorian said. “Take the bottle, please. It’s not very tasty, I know, but I can guarantee the next one I give you will be full of brandy.”

She rolled her eyes and took the small bottle from him. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

Fenris met Dorian’s eyes and nodded his thanks, and Dorian smiled faintly at him before stepping forward and pushing open the enormous double doors to the tower. 

The moment they stepped through the doors, a smug, smooth voice addressed them. “Ah, the hero arrives. Wearing the marks of the ancient warriors, no less. But is it hero, or murderer? It’s so hard to tell.”

The speaker was a man: a rather nondescript, middle-aged man wearing a fine black coat and fine black shoes with tidy silver buckles. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Imshael may have taken the form of a man, but his taunts reminded Fenris all too clearly of the Nightmare. 

“Demon,” he spat.

Imshael’s pleasant smile hardened. “Choice spirit,” he corrected. 

Hawke snorted. “Spirit, demon… either way, you’re a complete asshole.” She pulled her staff from her back. 

Imshael held up a finger. “Wait, wait!” he said. He looked at Fenris. “These are your friends? They’re very violent. It’s worrying.” He folded his hands behind his back. “True to my name, I will show you that you have a choice. It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

“Not always, no,” Fenris said. “In this case, yes.” He unsheathed his greatsword.

Imshael’s smile twisted into a snarl. “Fine,” he said. “If you won’t be smart, be afraid.” He suddenly burst into a huge and hideous rage demon. 

Hawke’s barrier fell over Fenris’s shoulders, and it was more comforting than any cloak. Three of Varric’s bolts struck the demon’s face in quick succession, and then Fenris and Blackwall were hacking at the demon’s body with all their strength. 

As promised, Hawke stood back and maintained a steady barrier over all of them while they attacked the demon. Dorian coated the creature with ice, rendering it brittle for their sword and arrow strikes, and the poison from Varric’s arrows withered the demon’s lava-liked flesh. 

 

Just when Fenris was sure that Imshael was beaten, he let out an unpleasant cackle of a laugh, then transformed into the largest demon of pride that they’d ever seen.

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwall swore. Then he and Fenris dodged away from the lashing of Imshael’s lightning-laced whips. 

The fight continued for an improbably long time. Imshael continued taunting them and changing forms, and each form he took seemed to lose some portion of the damage they’d inflicted. 

The demon backhanded Blackwall across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, then laughed again. “Where’s that Michel, hmm? Afraid of another disastrous blunder, so he sends you to do his dirty work? A clever choice, that. Maybe I underestimated him… _hah_. I do amuse myself sometimes.” Imshael chuckled unpleasantly, then snarled as Fenris cleaved straight through his left leg.

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Fenris spat. “I’ll paint these stones with your vile blood, demon.”

“Choice. Spirit,” Imshael hissed. “Allow me offer you another one.” He phased across the ichor-and-ice-spattered ground, then grabbed Hawke by the throat and hauled her off her feet.

“Hawke!” Varric shouted. 

“Release her!” Fenris roared. Hawke was gripping Imshael’s scaly arm for support, and Fenris’s heart was beating a panicked staccato in his ears. 

“Gladly,” Imshael said. “If you give me the anchor on your hand.”

Imshael knew how to remove the mark? For an instant, the shock rendered Fenris breathless.

He took a step toward Hawke, then stopped when Imshael squeezed Hawke’s throat more tightly. “Ah-ah-ah. You have to make a choice. Either you give me the anchor, or she dies.”

Hawke was staring at him with wide eyes. Her face was going red, and her kicking was growing weaker. 

“Fine,” Fenris blurted. “The anchor is yours. It is a curse. I never wanted it.” 

Dorian and Blackwall exclaimed in surprise, and Imshael’s monstrous face twisted into a grin. “And the hero throws aside his purpose!” he crowed. “How disappointing. For your friends there, I mean.” He held out one grotesquely clawed hand. “Now let’s have a look at that pretty palm of yours.”

Fenris approached the demon, his eyes fixed on Hawke’s reddening face. 

“Wait a minute,” Dorian protested. “Imshael, let’s — let’s talk about this. What other options—”

“Too late, Tevinter princeling,” Imshael said. “The grand Inquisitor has made his choice.” 

Fenris ignored them. When he was within reach of the demon, he held out his crackling left hand.

Imshael chuckled — an evil, guttural sound. Just as Imshael was about to touch his hand, Fenris nodded surreptitiously to Hawke. 

She twisted her fist in a wrenching motion. A blazing cage of white light appeared around the demon, making him scream with rage, and Hawke fell to a heap on the ground.

Her right hand was outstretched to maintain the cage. She looked up at Fenris with bloodshot eyes. “Do it,” she rasped. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, Fenris flung his snapping left palm at the cage of light, and an enormous burst of pure rift magic exploded from his palm and bloomed violently inside of the cage, encapsulating the demon completely. 

A horrendous, furious scream of pain and fury emanated from the cage. Fenris gritted his teeth and held the cloud of magic in place until the screaming died away, then clenched his fist shut and released his breath.

The demon was destroyed, nothing more than a breath of ash that was swiftly dissipating into the frigid wind. Fenris fell to his knees beside Hawke, who was hunched on the icy ground. 

Blackwall, Dorian and Varric ran over to join them, but Fenris ignored them. “Hawke,” he said. He rubbed her arms, then cupped her cold cheek in his trembling palm. “Rynne, look at me.” 

She lifted her face and smiled at him. She looked absolutely exhausted. “Hey, handsome. Are you a choice spirit? Because you take my breath away.” She laughed feebly, then broke into a hacking cough. 

Fenris pulled her into his arms and buried his face against her ear. “You are an idiot,” he whispered. 

She took a slow, rasping breath. “Only for you, Fenris,” she said. “Only for you.” 

He swallowed hard and tucked his cloak more securely around her body. Varric patted his shoulder. “That was some fast thinking, you guys. Nice work.”

“You knew they were going to do that?” Blackwall asked Varric in surprise. 

Varric shrugged. “Ah, I saw them staring at each other. They’ve got that sappy married couple’s mind-reading thing going on.” 

Fenris didn’t respond. Varric wasn’t completely wrong; Hawke’s gaze had darted to the snapping magic building in his left hand, so he’d figured out what she was thinking. But in that split second, that terrifying instant when Imshael had tightened his monstrous fingers around her throat…

Fenris would have given Imshael the anchor to free Hawke from his grasp. He would have done it. 

He pressed his face to her hair and inhaled her sandalwood scent. Then Varric patted his shoulder again. “Come on, we should get her somewhere warm. A tent and a few blankets at least.” 

Fenris nodded. “We’ll set up camp here,” he said. He glanced around at the blood-and-ichor-stained paving stones. “Not _right_ here,” he corrected, “but somewhere close by. I don’t want to move her too far.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” Hawke said. She tried to push herself out of Fenris’s embrace. “I can walk. We can go back to the nearest Inquisition camp.”

Her voice was hoarse and weak. Fenris tightened his arms around her. “No,” he said. “We remain here until the morning.” He looked at Blackwall, who had a livid bruise swelling across his right cheek. “Find an Inquisition runner; let them know that Suledin Keep is ours. Have them send a healer.”

Hawke tutted. “Come on, Fenris, I don’t need a healer—” 

“Right away,” Blackwall said, and he marched away in the direction of the keep’s entrance. Varric and Dorian, meanwhile, had gone off to find a spot to set up for the night, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone. 

He carefully arranged the fur-lined hood of his cloak over her hair, and she gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t need to coddle me. Just give me some elfroot and I’ll be grand.”

“You are close to being overextended,” Fenris scolded. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know the signs by now. I will not take any chances with your life.” He pulled a bottle of lyrium potion from her pouch belt and handed it to her, then brushed her spiky bangs out of her eyes.

She reached up and took his hand. “Hey,” she said. “I’m _fine_. I’ve rubbed elbows with death way more closely than this—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t talk like that.”

She raised her eyebrows, then feebly shifted in his arms so she was sitting up in his lap. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

He took two deep, slow breaths before answering her. “I… I was ready to give the mark to the demon,” he admitted. “I was ready to trade the mark for your life.” 

She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then she stroked his neck with her cold fingers. “You didn’t, though. It didn’t come to that.”

“But I would have,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I — the Inquisition — Hawke, I did not even consider it. It was the last thing on my mind—” 

She cupped his cheek in her palm. “You think I would have done differently?” she said. “Fenris, I… Maker fucking knows I would do the same for you.”

He swallowed hard. “What does that say about us?”

“What do you mean?” she said. Then she grinned. “Wait. Don’t tell me Blackwall’s existential crisis is rubbing off on you.”

He scoffed and rubbed his hair again. “Perhaps. He… they… there is no plan,” he said very quietly. “Even Varric thought that was planned. How we defeated Imshael. That was _not_ planned.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “But it was a little bit awesome, right? I mean, come on. We tricked a really powerful demon. Sorry, ‘choice spirit’.” She snickered mockingly, then shrugged. “Maybe we really can read each other’s minds.” 

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “I am being serious. They think… I am not what they think,” he said. “The Inquisitor should be someone who is committed to the Inquisition. Someone like Cassandra.”

Hawke shrugged. “I disagree,” she said. “It should be someone like you who has a life outside of the Inquisition. Someone who knows what it’s like to _not_ be in the Inquisition and remembers what we’re even doing all this shitty fighting for.” She made a little face. “Can you imagine having no life beyond the Inquisition? It would be pretty fucking sad, I think.”

He idly ran his thumb over her knuckles. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was just trying to find an excuse to shunt this responsibility off on someone else. 

Perhaps he just needed some rest. 

He sighed. “Come on, Hawke, let’s get you into a bedroll.” He carefully scooped her up and rose to his feet. 

She tutted, but draped her arms around his neck nevertheless. “You know, I really can walk, but you’re so dreamy that I’m not going to complain.”

He huffed. “That would make it a first for this trip.” 

She chuckled hoarsely. Then Varric called out to them. “Hey, you guys probably want to come over here.”

Fenris frowned slightly, then carried Hawke over to the most north-facing balcony of the keep where Varric and Dorian were standing over a half-dead red Templar.

Fenris raised his eyebrows and gently set Hawke on her feet. “Why have we not put him out of his misery?” he asked. 

Varric jerked his head at the Templar. “Just listen.”

The red Templar was muttering to himself. “A garden needs a gardener. Nurturing, gentle hands, directing the change,” he said hazily. “Not too fast, not too slow. Just right. Has to be just right.”

Hawke frowned. “He sounds like that note we found in the cellar here.” 

“A red lyrium gardener: how very macabre.” Dorian’s face was serious despite his flippant words. He looked at Fenris with a frown. “It makes sense, however. The red Templars we encountered here were far more cognizant than the first ones we encountered in Haven. Whatever the demon was doing here to slow the mental decay, it was working.” He eyed the dying red Templar with a mixture of pity and distaste. “Fortunate we stopped that Imshael fellow before they refined their technique any further.” 

Varric grunted. “Yeah. Every bit of red lyrium we get rid of is a good thing.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Hawke said. She gestured at the red Templar, who was still muttering to himself. “Are we going to end this poor sod’s suffering, then?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He removed a short knife from his belt, then knelt and quickly slashed the Templar’s throat. A moment later, the man released a sigh of relief as he died. 

They stood silently for a moment. Then Fenris placed a hand at the centre of Hawke’s back. “Come. Let’s rest. We should be set out for Skyhold in the morning.” 

They returned to the spot that Dorian had magically cleared for their tents, and Dorian lit a fire with a wave of his hand while Varric and Fenris set up their tents. Hawke sat by the fire and began unpacking some simple camping rations. 

“So let me get this straight,” she said as she handed Dorian a piece of oat bread. “Dwarves mine regular lyrium from the deep roads, but red lyrium just… grows bloody everywhere on everyone and everything?”

“Red lyrium came from the Deep Roads too, though,” Varric said. “I mean, who knows who made the idol, but we got it from the Deep Roads.” He sighed.

Hawke frowned sympathetically at him. “The idol can’t have been the only piece of red lyrium,” she reasoned. “It’s not where Corypheus got his stock from, because the idol’s still in Kirkwall with creepy statue Meredith, right? He must have gotten his red lyrium from somewhere else. Before he started farming it, at least.” 

Fenris knew why she was saying this to Varric: Varric felt guilty about the role that red lyrium was playing in their current troubles, even though Bartrand had been the one to spearhead their journey to the Deep Roads all those years ago, not to mention who had brought the idol into Kirkwall in the first place.

Varric wryly raised one eyebrow. “That’s not exactly comforting. To think there’s a vein of red lyrium somewhere that Corypheus is mining?”

Dorian stroked his mustache slowly. “Why grow it if they can mine it, though?”

“Growing is way more efficient,” Varric said darkly. “I mean, think about it. Who’d want to go mining in the Deep Roads when you can just harvest it from people’s bodies?”

Hawke and Dorian grimaced. “Such a charming thought,” Dorian said. “I may vomit.” 

Fenris and Varric joined them at the fire, and Fenris handed Hawke a vial of elfroot potion. “It puzzles me that red lyrium can grow in the first place,” he said. “It’s a mineral that must be mined. How is it possible that it grows?”

Hawke sipped her elfroot. “That’s true,” she said slowly. “Minerals crystallize. So maybe it’s just a form of… exaggerated crystallization?” She grimaced doubtfully. 

Varric and Fenris shrugged. Then Dorian spoke up. “Well, we keep saying people are infected with red lyrium. Maybe that’s really what it is: an infection. A parasite.”

“A parasitic mineral?” Hawke said. 

Varric sighed. “As if shit wasn’t weird enough already.” 

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully. He had to agree with Varric. It was hard enough trying to fathom the nature of regular lyrium without the red kind making matters more complicated.

He stared moodily at the white lines on his palm. For years he’d thought himself cursed by the tattoos that twisted and twined around his limbs. He’d become a bit more comfortable with the lyrium marks over the past few years, but with all these disturbing new questions, combined with what Solas had said about his erstwhile magic being held captive in the lyrium lines that marred his skin… 

He glared at the livid white lines on his palm. Then Hawke gently placed a piece of oat bread in his open hand. 

He looked up at her, and she smiled. “Eat,” she said softly. “I’m not the only one who’s tired after all that fighting.” 

He closed his fingers over the bread and nodded. She handed some bread to Varric too, then took a bite of her own bread. “I don’t know about you fellows, but I could eat an entire pot of stew right about now.” 

“Mm,” Varric agreed through a mouthful of bread. “Don’t remind me. I’d even eat the stew they made at the Hanged Man as long as it was hot.” 

Fenris snorted. “You’re fooling no one with that remark. We know you enjoyed the Hanged Man’s mystery stew.” He took a small bite of his bread.

“‘Tolerating until your taste buds go numb’ isn’t the same as ‘enjoying’,” Varric drawled. “Either way, I’d eat it.” 

“I have to agree,” Dorian said. “Anything as long as it was hot. _Kaffas_ , I would even drink mulled wine right now.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like mulled wine? I thought you Tevinters loved your wine.”

“Oh, do we ever,” Dorian said with relish. “Hence why those with discerning tastes—” 

“Privileged tastes,” Fenris put in.

“–don’t drink mulled wine,” Dorian finished while blithely ignoring him. “I can’t quite fathom the logic behind mulled wine. ‘Ah yes, let’s take every bottle of wine in a ten-metre radius and dump it in a pot with a box of random spices. How delicious!’” He shuddered dramatically. “It’s truly one of the most ghastly discoveries I’ve made in the south.”

Fenris scoffed and took another bite of bread. Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t even try and pretend you enjoy mulled wine.”

Fenris swallowed his bread. “No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean–”

Dorian laughed loudly. “Ah, be careful, my friend. Your true colours are showing.” 

Fenris huffed. “I don’t like it, but I would still drink it.”

“So would I,” Dorian said archly. “That’s the point. Desperate times, desperate drinks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of which, did none of us bring any alcohol? How terribly remiss.”

Hawke pointed accusingly at him. “You promised me a bottle of brandy. I intend to collect on that promise.” 

“Yes, all right,” Dorian said patiently. “The moment we return to Skyhold, I will positively drown you in brandy.”

Hawke grinned, and Fenris shook his head in dismay. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m tempted to encourage her just to watch her run you ragged,” Dorian teased.

Hawke and Varric chuckled, and Fenris ruefully shook his head, and for a time they sat by the fire simply chatting and eating their bread. Hawke leaned companionably into Fenris’s arm, then eventually rested her cheek against his shoulder. When she fell quiet, listening and laughing instead of making her usual cheeky remarks, Fenris patted her knee. 

“Come,” he said. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

She nodded, and they bade Varric and Dorian a good night and walked over to their tent. 

Hawke crouched and peered into the tent, then grimaced. “Ugh, it’s so fucking cold. Hang on out here for a moment.” She crawled into the tent and tucked the flap shut. A second later, a dim orange glow filtered through the cracks in the tent flap. 

Fenris waited patiently as she shuffled around in the tent. A few minutes later, she called out in a muffled voice. “All right, come in. Quickly!”

He knelt and crawled into the tent. The inside of the tent was tangibly warmer than outside thanks to a tiny glowing fireball hovering near the top of the tent. Hawke was already bundled in their bedding, tucked in so securely he could barely see her face. 

A burst of fondness filled his chest. He began pulling off his armour. “You’re certain this flame doesn’t draw too much energy?”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll put it out once you get in here with me.”

Her tone was playful, and Fenris noted with relief that her voice only sounded mildly raspy now — thanks to the elfroot, no doubt. He stripped down to his fur-lined leggings and thermal shirt, then slipped under the covers. 

Predictably, she was naked aside from her smallclothes, and she pressed herself against his chest the moment he slid beneath the bedding. “Hey,” she complained. “You promised me skin-to-skin.”

“I didn’t, in fact,” he replied. “You were the one–” He broke off and grabbed her hands as she tried to slip them beneath his shirt, then relaxed when he realized he hands weren’t freezing.

She laughed softly and curled her arm around his waist. “I wouldn’t stick my cold hands inside your shirt. I’m not that much of a bitch.”

“You stuck your frozen fingers inside my collar the first day we got here,” he reminded her.

She laughed again. “Shit. I guess I am a bitch then.” She snuggled as close to him as possible and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Please get naked with me. I’m still cold.”

He scoffed as she tucked one knee between his legs. “You never stop, do you?”

She shook her head. “Never,” she said. “There’s no such thing as being too close to you.” 

A thread of tenderness squeezed his heart. Carefully so as not to disturb her too much, he pulled his shirt off, then shuffled his leggings off with some difficulty. 

Hawke helped him with the leggings, then chivvied him into lying on his back and draped herself across his body. “Better,” she whispered. 

He smiled and idly ran his hand along her arm. “Yes, it is.”

She hummed happily in response. Less than a minute later, her breathing evened out into the slow and easy cadence of sleep, and the tiny fireball at the top of the tent winked out of existence.

Fenris let out a long sigh. The inside of the tent was dark aside from the dim glow of the fire where Varric, Dorian, and a returned Blackwall were sitting, and the indistinct murmuring of their voices was oddly soothing. Despite the intensity of their activity today, however, Fenris didn’t really feel tired. 

He ran his palm in a careful path from Hawke’s bare shoulder to her wrist and back, and he thought about Blackwall’s words from earlier today: how the intention to protect had led Clarel astray. It was easy enough to judge Clarel after seeing the horrific blood magic rituals she’d perpetrated, but what Fenris had almost done today… 

To save Hawke’s life, he’d nearly made a deal with a demon. It was something he would never have imagined himself doing, but seeing Hawke so terribly threatened had driven everything else from his mind. 

Being willing to deal with demons in order to save Hawke’s life… what _did_ that say about him? Hawke seemed to think it didn’t matter, since he hadn’t made a deal in the end. But intentions were important. Consequences were important, of course, but intentions were important too. Perhaps this meant he was no better than Merrill, with her pride demon and her cursed eluvian. 

Perhaps this meant he was no better than Anders.

He mentally recoiled from the thought the moment it crossed his mind. _It is not the same,_ he thought. He wasn’t seeking knowledge or power like Merrill or Anders. 

But his motivation — to save one person at the expense of everything else — was still ultimately selfish.

Hawke shifted on his body. “This arm rubbing is nice and all, but you’re keeping me awake,” she mumbled.

“Ah,” he said. He relaxed his fingers. He hadn’t realized he was rubbing her arm quite that firmly. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled away from him slightly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m well,” he murmured. He forced his hands to stay still on her body.

After a quiet moment, she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He nibbled the inside of his cheek. “Later, perhaps,” he said. “Get some rest.”

“All right, if you’re sure.” She nestled her cheek against his chest once more, then yawned. “I love you.”

He swallowed hard. Hawke frequently told him she loved him, but tonight it brought a lump to his throat. 

“I love _you_ ,” he whispered. 

She hummed contentedly, and a minute later she was asleep again. 

Fenris closed his eyes and began to practice the same meditative breathing that he’d reminded Cullen to try. But even as he felt the muscles in his shoulders and his jaw loosening and relaxing, he continued to worry about intentions and consequences, and about himself and Hawke.

He and Hawke refused to be apart, and they had never hidden their willingness to protect each other at all cost. But for the first time, Fenris couldn’t help but worry how high that cost might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Imshael: in the Masked Empire, Imshael plays a pretty prominent and interesting role; of note, the ancient elf Felassan – a known operative of Fen’harel – is familiar with Imshael, to the point that they know each other on a first-name basis. What that could mean for how well Imshael knows Solas is… up in the air; Imshael doesn’t say anything specific to or about Solas when you take him along on this sidequest, but if you let Imshael talk before killing him, Solas does say this: “it rarely hurts to listen. Trust is another matter entirely.”
> 
> [curls in the corner in cries in Elvhen like the piece of Solas trash that I am]
> 
> If you want any more deets about Imshael’s role in the Masked Empire or the considerable liberties I took with his character in this chapter, [feel free to reach out on Tumblr to discuss!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/)


	32. Interlude: Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is very short. Yes, it’s nothing but fluff and smut. But guys, I haven’t written a proper Fenris/Rynne smut scene since June (!!?!?!?) and for me that’s just… unacceptable. UNPRECEDENTED. FOR SHAME.
> 
> Also, I just have a lot of FenRynne feelings. So please forgive this little offering of plotless, shameless smut. I figure you guys deserve a little break from the constant train of angst too, yeah? :3

Fenris woke in the middle of the night to find Hawke shivering.

He shifted beneath the covers. Without opening his eyes, he wrapped an arm around her bare waist and pulled her back against his chest. 

“Perhaps you should put on more clothes,” he mumbled. He nestled his face into her fragrant hair. 

“No,” she whispered. “I just need to steal more of your body heat.”

He huffed drowsily. “That has not been working so far if you’re shivering this hard.”

She made a disgruntled noise. “Hang on a moment,” she muttered. A second later, a faint orange glow assaulted his closed eyelids.

Fenris scowled and hid his face in her hair. The glow was far too bright for this hour of night. “Hawke, stop,” he complained. “No fireballs.”

“Just for a few minutes. Just until it warms up in here,” she said coaxingly. 

He grumbled and nipped the back of her neck in punishment. She giggled, then rolled over to face him and tucked her knee between his legs.

She gently pinched his chin. “So grumpy, you are. It’s just a tiny fireball.”

He kept his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s brighter than a candle flame. Can you not dim it?”

She scoffed. “No. Not without defeating its purpose.”

He sighed. Then Hawke shifted her knee higher between his thighs.

He opened his eyes to look at her. In the dim flickering glow of the fireball she’d conjured, her pretty face was thrown into sharp relief, highlighting the mischievous curl of her lips. 

She shifted closer to him and slid her knee higher still. “Hello there. What’s this?” she whispered.

Her thigh was brushing against his morning wood – more like midnight wood, really, given the hour. He gave her a chiding look. “That is the normal consequence of being woken from a good sleep,” he said dryly.

“Hmm, woken indeed,” she purred. She flattened her palms against his abs. “You know, now that I think about it, that’s another way you could warm me up.”

He gazed at her in exasperation. “Right Now? Here?” The dead of night in a tent in Emprise du Lion was hardly a sensual setting, particularly not with Blackwall, Varric and Dorian sleeping in their tents just a dozen paces away. 

“I’m game if you are,” she whispered. Her fingers drifted lower over his belly, and she pressed her thigh more firmly against his cock. 

He caught his breath as a traitorous streak of pleasure rippled from his groin through his belly. He exhaled softly, then held his breath again when her fingers slid along the inside of his thigh. 

He inhaled slowly through his rising wave of interest. “This is hardly the smoothest persuasion technique you’ve ever employed, Hawke.”

She stroked his balls, then ran her fingers gently along the length of his cock. “So you admit you want to be persuaded.”

She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, and his cock pulsed at the teasing grip of her hand. He forced himself to take another breath. “At this point, I think I could be persuaded, yes,” he whispered.

She grinned and squeezed his cock, and Fenris closed his eyes and submitted happily to her touch. Her palm was warm and her grip was firm, and Fenris savoured the slow, teasing stroke of her hand for a minute. 

Then he abruptly gripped her hip and pushed her onto her back. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. Then Fenris cupped his palm over her sex, and she arched into his touch with a gasp. 

He lightly petted her cleft through her smalls, teasing her with a gentle touch, and it wasn’t long before she was panting and tilting her hips toward his hand. “I thought – _mm_ – I thought you were the one who needed convincing,” she gasped. 

“I do,” he said. “Perhaps this is how you can do it.” He watched her face carefully as he smoothed his fingers between her legs. The fireball overhead was starting to flicker, and Hawke’s face was growing tense with longing as the telltale heat seeped through her smallclothes to find his fingertips. 

“How exactly am I persuading you?” she breathed. “By coming for you?” She smiled playfully at him, then gasped more loudly as he snuck his hand inside of her smalls.

“Yes,” he whispered. “ _Quietly._ ” He gently pressed his fingers into her folds, satisfied to find her slick and willing, then lowered his mouth to her breast. 

His lips found her nipple at the moment that his fingers brushed over her clit, and Hawke let out a soft moan. Fenris lifted his head and gave her a chiding look. “Hawke.”

“I know, I know,” she whimpered. She pressed her hand to her mouth, and Fenris lowered his lips to her breast once more. 

He tugged her nipple with his lips and stroked her clit in a light rhythm, and she jerked her hips toward him. She was breathing hard, desperate rasping breaths that were muffled by her hand, and when Fenris bit her nipple gently, she arched desperately toward him. 

Another tiny moan escaped her hand. His blood sang at the pleasured sound, but he frowned at her all the same. “Silently, Hawke,” he whispered. 

“I _know_ ,” she whined. “It’s just – f-fuck…” Her lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath, and her nails were clenched in the bedroll, and Fenris hungrily watched as the light from her nebulous fireball highlighted the desperation in her face. 

“Silently,” he reminded her. Then he suckled her nipple once more.

She jammed her fist against her mouth, and Fenris relentlessly stroked the precious swollen spot between her legs. His fingers were slick with her desire, and her nipple was hard and slick from his mouth, and with every devoted pass of his fingertips, the fireball overhead flickered more madly still, casting chaotic shadows across the inside of the tent. 

She arched her back suddenly, lifting her hips right off of the bedroll, and the fireball went out. 

“Damn it,” she groaned, and Fenris smirked. Then she was convulsing with pleasure and biting the back of her hand.

He continued to stroke her, coaxing her through her peak and slowly down to a careful landing. Once her body had fallen still, she spoke very softly. “Well? Are you persuaded yet?”

He huffed in amusement. Carefully, keeping their bodies covered by their bedding, he peeled her damp smallclothes down to her ankles, then shifted between her legs. 

Poised above her on his elbows, he clasped Hawke’s face in his hands. Barely a hint of light was coming through the tent fabric from the moon outside, but it was enough for Fenris’s sharp eyes to detect the grin on her face. 

“Consider me convinced,” he murmured. He pumped his hips slowly, sliding his shaft along her heated cleft. 

Her cheeky expression faded, replaced by a look of sheer and utter lust. Fenris curled his hips again, sliding his cock teasingly against her folds without giving either of them the satisfaction of slipping inside. 

She dug her fingers into his back. “Please,” she mewled. 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Shhh,” he whispered. Then, breathless with anticipation, he slowly sheathed himself inside of her. 

Her lips fell open in rapture, and Fenris sealed them with his own, capturing her pleas and her pleasure with the tip of his tongue as it twined with hers. He filled her slowly, savouring her slickness and her heat and her loving hands gripping his back. She lifted her hips to meet his every thrust, and it wasn’t long before their slow and languorous pace was pushing him higher, demanding the sort of rough and eager movement that he simply couldn’t justify, not this late at night with their companions not too far away. 

He broke from their kiss and clenched his teeth. The roar of pleasure was building low in his abdomen, demanding that he meet his own desperate need by taking her faster. But it was too shameless, too public, even despite their careful quiet and the lateness of the hour. 

She ran her thumb along his lower lip. “What’s wrong?” she breathed. 

“Nothing,” he gritted. “Nothing, I – I simply want… Hawke, I…” He breathed hard and slid himself slowly into her once more, but the act was equally pleasurable and torturous, feeding his hungry wish to fuck her hard and fast. 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to go faster,” he admitted. “But I… the noise and the movement, and the others…”

She laughed softly. “Go ahead and wake them. I don’t care.”

Fenris nipped her lower lip in rebuke. “ _I_ care,” he said. He swallowed hard. “But I... Rynne, I want you harder…”

“Hmm, that is a problem.” She lifted her hips, taking him deep once more, and Fenris pressed his lips together to quell a moan. 

She gripped his arms and ground her pelvis hard against his. “You want to fuck me harder? That’s the problem?” she murmured.

He dragged in a pleasured breath. “Yes,” he rasped. 

“Too bad we have to go slow and quiet, then,” she whispered. “I can just imagine you slamming your cock inside of me and making me scream.”

A red-hot bolt of lust trickled down his throat. “Ah,” he stammered. 

In the faint hint of light from the moon, he saw the quirk of her smile as she continued to whisper in a sensual, petal-soft voice. “I can just picture you holding my hands down to the bed while you fuck me hard and fast,” she told him. “And I’m so wet, Fenris, and I want you so badly because… because imagine you teased me with your tongue between my legs, making me come so hard that I’m begging…”

Hawke continued to whisper salacious scenarios to him, pouring her exquisite dirty words into the cozy confines of their tent, and the more she talked, the higher Fenris’s lust was rising. He buried his face against her neck as she talked, pumping into her in a slow and careful rhythm, but the slow pace of their loving barely mattered anymore; it was her words, the words she was using to paint an image in his mind, the words she was using to build his climax piece by piece as the glorious heat between her legs drew him closer with every careful thrust. 

Enraptured by her voice and her scent and her heated embrace, he bit the side of her neck, and she gasped. “ _Yes,_ ” she whimpered. 

He pressed his lips to her ear. “Please,” he begged. “Keep talking.” Her words were bringing him close, and if she just kept whispering to him for another minute, he could – he would – 

She grinned, then gasped again as he thrust into her deeply. “ _Ah!_ All right, all right, I… I can imagine you pushing me down on my hands and knees and running those gorgeous fingers of yours between my legs, and you’re smirking because you know how badly I want you. You can see it and taste it, you can feel how much I want you when you slide your fingers in deep…”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Go on,” he moaned. 

She lifted her hips to meet him and obeyed his request. “I love when you fuck me with your fingers, and I love when you fuck me with your tongue,” she panted. “But I love it the most when you _fuck_ me and you bite my neck like this and – and when you look at me and… and f-fuck, Fenris, I’m yours, all right?” she babbled. Her hands were on his back, and her quiet voice was becoming more strained as he drove into her in a slow, hard rhythm. “You can have me as slow or fast as you want because I’m yours and I… I want you even while you’re fucking me, every second that your cock is inside of me just makes me want you more, and I — you — I’ll give you whatever you want, because I’m _yours_ –”

He cut her off with a hard kiss. Seconds later, his climax tore through him in a heart-pounding, hedonistic rush.

He moaned into her heated tongue and tightened his fingers in the dampness of her hair. Once he had caught his breath, he peeled himself away from her lips and stared at her, besotted and breathless from the effectiveness of her filthy words. 

She gazed up at him with a smile. “So much for keeping silent,” she whispered. 

He grimaced. She was probably right; this had been far more noisy than he’d intended. 

He sheepishly ran a hand through his damp hair. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” he muttered.

She started laughing silently, her body shaking with mirth beneath him, and Fenris lifted himself off of her. “Shut up, Hawke,” he scolded, but he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. 

“It’s a bit too late for that,” she drawled. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth to smother her laughter. 

Fenris couldn’t help it. He grinned at her and pinched her waist until she squeaked. “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “You’re warm now. There is no excuse.”

She continued to wheeze with laughter as they snuggled together. She sighed happily and pressed her back against his bare chest. “I told you I just needed to steal your body heat. Who needs clothes if I have you making me all nice and hot?”

He grunted, and she snickered softly before falling quiet. They lay cocooned in the bundle of their bedding, breathing in unison as the quiet of the night fell over their tent once more. 

Just before sleep was about to steal him away, he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade. “I am yours, as well,” he mumbled.

She yawned and squeezed his hand. “I know. Now go to sleep, you handsome fool. You’re keeping me awake.”

He smirked, then allowed his mind to drift. If he and Hawke had been as loud as he feared, they would probably have to cope with Dorian’s sly remarks in the morning, which was… unfortunate, to say the least.

But at this moment, breathing in the scent of Hawke’s hot and fragrant skin, Fenris didn’t really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: my updates might slow down again, just for this month; I’m simultaneously working on [a Cullen/ Piper Lavellan and Fenris/Rynne pirate AU with my dear friend Schoute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18862420), and I want that story to hit a certain point before the end of the month, so Fenquisition updates may be slower than usual. 
> 
> I WILL BE BACK, though, definitely before September hits. I am nowhere near done with this story, so don’t you dare despair. xo
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone would like to swing by and say hi!


	33. Uncertainty

Cullen paced slowly behind his desk. “Destroying the Red Templar operations at the quarry was good work,” he said to Fenris and Hawke. “The letters you found from Samson are helpful; they make it clear that destroying his armour would be a worthwhile goal.” He frowned thoughtfully at the papers on his desk. “It seems that Samson has found a way to take advantage of the enhancing qualities of red lyrium while warding off its ill effects.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “Its protective effects sound similar to the charms that Dagna developed for the Inquisition.”

“Exactly,” Cullen said. “If Dagna was able to make our protective charms, perhaps she can find a way to un-make the protection on Samson’s armour.” He folded his arms, and his lip was curled with disdain as he spoke. “I for one am looking forward to seeing Samson humbled when next we engage him.” 

“Oh dear, the commander seeking revenge? Be still, my beating heart.” Hawke pulled a little face and seated herself comfortably on Cullen’s desk.

Cullen frowned at her. “This is a serious matter, Hawke. You recall how he was in Kirkwall. You’ve seen firsthand how far he’s fallen.” 

“That’s the odd bit, though,” she said. “I’m still not clear how he got to be such a powerful figure in Corytit’s army.”

“Fenris and I were talking about that some time ago,” Cullen said with a nod. “It bewilders me as well that he found his way to become Corypheus’s right-hand man.”

“Right?” Hawke said. She swung her feet idly as she spoke. “Leadership wasn’t exactly in the cards for the Samson we knew back in Kirkwall. He always seemed a bit of an idiot, even without the lyrium addiction.” She looked at Fenris. “He was rather pathetic, no? I even felt bad for him at first.”

Fenris shrugged noncommittally. Hawke smiled and poked him in the ribs. “I know, I know, _you_ never cared for him.”

“He assisted apostates to escape the city,” Fenris said. “That was enough to earn my ire at the time.”

Hawke playfully rolled her eyes. “Ah yes, dreaded apostates. You could never come around to associating with one of _those._ ” She batted her eyelashes at him. 

Fenris gave her a chiding smirk, and Cullen cleared his throat. “Samson’s downfall was certainly a sharp one,” he said. “When I first arrived in Kirkwall, he and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man at first. Meredith later expelled Samson for—”

Hawke gasped suddenly and snapped her fingers. “–for carrying love letters between a mage and his lover! I remember now,” she exclaimed. Then she scoffed in disgust. “Classic case of Mad Meredith making a mountain out of a molehill.” She twisted her lips ruefully. “Samson really was rather friendly to the mages, wasn’t he? In a selfish sort of way. Well, right until he changed his mind about them during that whole anti-Meredith conspiracy.”

Cullen grunted in acknowledgement. “You raise a fair point. He was not a principled man. He claimed to have the heart of a Templar, but he was loyal to himself over all else.”

“Not to himself,” Fenris said quietly. “To the lyrium. That is what he craved more than anything else.”

Neither Cullen nor Hawke replied to that, and there was a beat of awkward silence. Then Hawke tilted her head. “How are you doing by the way, Cullen? You look good. Very healthy and handsome.”

Cullen nodded politely to her. “I’m doing well, Hawke. Thank you for asking.” He smiled faintly at Fenris. They had played chess together for the first time last night. The match was unusually long and gruelling, but Fenris had ultimately lost. 

Fenris gave Cullen a rueful smirk, then returned to the topic at hand. “It does strike me as odd that Samson rose through the ranks enough to gain Corypheus’s attention.”

“Yes,” Hawke agreed. “I wasn’t aware that he was reinstated to the Templars.”

“He wasn’t,” Cullen said grimly. “Not to my knowledge, in any case, and I was the one who oversaw the consequences of that whole debacle with Grace and Ser Thrask.”

“That’s right, you were,” Hawke said. She smiled ruefully. “Simpler times, no?”

“I must disagree, actually,” Cullen said. “In Kirkwall…” He trailed off and sat slowly in his chair. “Things became so complicated by the end. Realizing that the Knight-Commander’s judgment truly was impaired, and that everything I’d stood for was twisted by her corruption… It was a difficult pill to swallow.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “I am much more certain of my place here. I can be confident that my duty with the Inquisition is just. Thanks in no small part to Cassandra, and to you,” he said to Fenris. He looked at Hawke. “To both of you.”

Fenris managed a small half-smile, but there was a wistful pang in his chest. Life might be simpler for Cullen now, but Fenris agreed with Hawke: for him, life had been simpler in Kirkwall. In Kirkwall, they faced dangers every day, but the dangers had lower stakes. Back in Kirkwall, the fate of the world wasn’t balancing on Hawke’s shoulders with every decision she made, and most of the tasks she chose to take on were just that: a choice. There was less uncertainty back then, since they were less aware of just how much they didn’t know about lyrium and spirits and demons and the Fade. 

Most importantly for Fenris, _he_ had not been in charge of the decisions back in Kirkwall. Every scrap of trouble that fell on Hawke’s shoulders, every conflict that she was unwittingly asked to mediate: Fenris was there, but it wasn’t his decision. And it wasn’t until he and Hawke had stumbled into the Inquisition that he’d realized what a privilege it was to not be in charge. 

Hawke’s sunny voice broke him from his thoughts. “Aw, Cullen, no need to butter us up. We already like you.”

Cullen bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you, Hawke. That’s very kind.” He cleared his throat, then rose from his chair. “I understand you’ll be departing for the Emerald Graves in a few days’ time?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We will clear the Venatori from the ruins. We’ll ensure they reap no further knowledge that Corypheus could use.”

“And we’ll get a tome’s worth of new bedtime stories from Solas, I’m sure,” Hawke added with relish. “I can imagine it already: his lovely bald head shining from the campfire while he tells us ghost stories about the elven ruins…”

Fenris shook his head in amusement as she hopped off of Cullen’s desk, and Cullen followed them to the door. “A good plan,” he said. “Perhaps Dagna will have some ideas about Samson’s armour upon your return.” 

Fenris nodded. Just before following Hawke out the door, he turned back to Cullen once more. “Care for a rematch tonight?”

Cullen chuckled. “All right. You’re on. Until later, then.” He gave Hawke a polite half-bow, then retreated into his office. 

Hawke took his hand as they made their way along the battlements. There was a tiny curl of a smile on her face, but when she didn’t speak for a few moments, Fenris gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

She looked up at him and squeezed his hand. “You and Cullen bonding. The two most handsome men in Skyhold being friends.” She fanned herself playfully. “The girls in the kitchen are all aflutter at the thought of you playing chess together. I heard them talking this morning when I went to fetch some scones.” 

Fenris grunted. “Perhaps we should find somewhere more private to play. The dungeons, perhaps.”

“Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed. “You’re raising morale by playing in the Great Hall where all the insomniacs can ogle at you.”

Fenris ran a hand through his hair. “ _Fasta vass._ ”

She laughed and squeezed his hand, then released him. “All right, handsome, I’ve got to meet Dorian in the library. I promised him I’d help him search for something. I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, and she pecked him on the cheek before skipping away. Fenris, meanwhile, made his way toward the annex to speak with Cassandra. 

She and the others had returned from Caer Oswin a day before Fenris had come back from Emprise du Lion. She’d given her report on the Seekers’ goings-on at the war table just this morning, but as they were leaving the room, she’d sidled up beside him.

“Fenris,” she said quietly. “When you have a moment, I would like to show you something. A tome I obtained from Lord Seeker Lucius.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “A tome? Of what nature?”

She hesitated. “It is best if you see it for yourself, I think,” she said. “I… truth be told, I would be glad of your opinion.”

Her brow was furrowed more than usual, and Fenris tried to push aside a fresh wave of concern. If Cassandra’s tome was time-sensitive or critical to the Inquisition’s goals, she would have mentioned it to the advisors as well. 

He nodded. “Of course. I will find you this afternoon,” he said. 

And so it was that he stepped into the annex, then padded his way up the stairs to find Cassandra sitting at a table poring over a very thick tome bound in cracked black leather. 

He slowly approached her table. “I hope your tome contains more intrigue than the last chapter of _Swords and Shields 2_ ,” he said. 

She looked up at him, a small smile cracking the frown on her face. “You read the last chapter?”

Fenris shrugged and sat in the chair opposite her. “I have been known to proofread Varric’s work at times. I’m uncertain why he asks me, though. He knows I do not like this serial.”

Cassandra’s smile widened. Then she looked down at the tome and gently stroked its pages. “This tome was passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker since the time of the old Inquisition,” she said. “And now it falls to me.”

Fenris looked at the tome in surprise. That explained why it looked so old. 

“I take it your readings have yielded something disturbing?” he said. 

She opened her mouth, then hesitated before speaking. “It speaks of the Rite of Tranquility. I assume you have experience with this from Kirkwall, beyond the Tranquil who live among us now.” 

Fenris frowned. “I know of it, yes. It is used to strip the powers of mages who are not strong enough to withstand the Harrowing.” 

Cassandra nodded. “It should only be used on those who cannot control their abilities. But you know that has not always been the case. You would have seen the abuses that took place in Kirkwall’s Circle.”

Fenris leaned back and folded his arms. In his opinion, there were some mages in Kirkwall who may have served better as Tranquil; he privately still felt that Feynriel should have been taken to the Circle and put through a Harrowing, which he would undoubtedly have failed. But Fenris could also admit that the sheer number of mages being made Tranquil in the Kirkwall Circle couldn’t plausibly be justified. 

“Go on,” he said. 

Cassandra leaned forward in her chair. “You may not be aware of this, seeing as you and Hawke were on the run. But the incident in Kirkwall was not the true catalyst of the war between the mages and the Templars. What finally began the mage rebellion was the discovery that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed.”

A jolt of shock straightened his spine. “What?”

Cassandra nodded. ‘The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery, in addition to what happened in Kirkwall—”

“Of course it is dangerous knowledge,” Fenris said. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “If this was known in Kirkwall — if the mages in the Circle knew their most dangerous and volatile mages could be returned to their former uncontrolled erratic state? The sheer danger–” 

“I know, Fenris,” Cassandra interrupted quietly. “These are the reasons why Lord Seeker Lambert covered it up.” She sighed and looked sadly at her tome. “But it appears we’ve always known how to reverse the Rite, from the beginning.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment. “You… you mean the Seekers? They have always known?” 

She nodded slowly, then met his eyes. “We _created_ the Rite of Tranquility,” she said quietly. “I told you of my vigil: the months I spent emptying myself all emotion? I was made Tranquil, and I did not even know.” 

Fenris listened with growing perplexity as she went on. “The ritual summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. The spirit broke Tranquility and gave me my abilities.”

Fenris held up a hand. “That’s… no. That’s not logical,” he protested. “Tranquility is meant to render a mage immune to possession by demons. That is the entire point of the ritual.”

“It is meant to make them less attractive to demons, yes,” Cassandra confirmed. “But they are not immune. If the Tranquil were – if _we_ were immune to spirits, then I would not be sitting before you as I am today.”

Fenris rubbed his mouth. Non-mages making themselves Tranquil, then being rescued from Tranquility by spirits… It went counter to everything Fenris thought he knew. For the umpteenth time, his understanding of the world was being flipped on its head, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. 

_I wish Hawke were here,_ he thought. _Kaffas, I even wish Solas were here._ If the process of reversing Tranquility relied on the involvement of spirits, then it was likely that Solas could elucidate. 

Fenris lowered his hand. “This… reversal process,” he said. “How would it work in practice for the mages? How is it different than summoning demons?” 

She pushed the book toward him. “I would invite you to read this yourself when you have the time,” she said. “It is explained here. But it is not a cure, not truly. Mages lose all control over their emotions. They become irrational, unable to focus.” She lifted her shoulders sadly. “Perhaps that state eventually passes and they can be helped, but it will take time to investigate.”

Fenris dragged a hand through his hair. Uncontrolled mages? Irrational mages who couldn’t be reasoned with? They were the main reason he had sworn never to return to Tevinter. 

“Cassandra, I don’t like this,” he said. “If it is my opinion you wanted on this matter, my opinion is this: this knowledge is dangerous. Far too dangerous to disseminate with all the strife that is already going on.”

“It is dangerous, I know,” she said softly. “I would not want news of a cure to spread until we know for certain we can help these people. Once we have that, however? Then I will spread the word myself.”

Her determination was clear in the proud angle of her chin, and Fenris eyed her with rising agitation. “I hope I am no longer the Inquisitor when you decide to share that information,” he said. 

She smiled at him as though he was joking. Fenris gently pushed the tome back toward her. “If you insist on following this course, you should speak with Hawke,” he said. “In our early days in Kirkwall, we witnessed a case of a mage for whom Tranquility seemed to… wear off temporarily. A friend of Anders’s,” he explained when Cassandra’s eyes widened. “This friend was unjustly made Tranquil, or so Anders said. But he was… unusual.” Fenris trailed off as he tried to remember the exact incident; the details were a little blurry now thanks to the passage of time and the blinding bloodrage from the fight, not to mention the nasty discovery that Anders was an abomination. 

“There was an odd moment,” Fenris said. “A minute during which the Tranquil became himself once more, and he begged Anders to kill him. Then the state of Tranquility returned.” 

Cassandra stared at him. Clearly she hadn’t heard this tale during her interrogations in Kirkwall, and Fenris couldn’t blame her; he and Hawke and their companions had killed all the Templars who had who gotten involved in that incident, much to Fenris’s disgruntlement. 

“What happened to the Tranquil?” Cassandra asked.

“He is dead,” Fenris said. “A mercy killing.”

Cassandra gazed at him for a moment longer, then slowly sat back in her chair. “I see,” she said. “I was not aware of that. I will make a note to ask around about similar cases. When we are not occupied with our duties against Corypheus, of course.”

Fenris nodded, then started to rise from the table. “If that is all...”

“Oh – in fact, I…” She trailed off as Fenris looked at her. “That’s – that is not all. I was hoping to speak to you of something else.” 

Fenris sat down again, and Cassandra rubbed her hands together slowly before speaking. “I… I had thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. Now I’m not certain the Seekers deserve to be rebuilt.”

Fenris tilted his head. “What makes you say that?”

She blew out a gusty breath, then rose from the table to pace slowly by the window. “I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker’s work,” she said. “Not truly. Perhaps we believed it, once. The original Inquisition came to be during a terrible time. But now?” She shook her head ruefully. “We harboured secrets and let them fester. We acted to survive, but not to serve. That is not the Maker’s work.”

He eyed her apprehensively. This _was_ a terrible time. Perhaps the other Seekers had lost their way, but Cassandra had not. Did she not think the Inquisition’s work was justified? 

“What do you believe the Maker’s work to be?” he said.

“There is no way to know for certain,” she said. “That is why we must seek it out. Perhaps we lost our way because we stopped looking.”

_More uncertainty,_ he thought morosely. He rested his elbows wearily on the table. “You are a more patient person than I,” he said. “I prefer to act than to live on that fine edge of uncertainty.” 

She stopped her pacing and looked at him. “That is not true. You have thought deeply about every decision you have made here, every step of the way. The conversations you have had with me, with Hawke, with Solas… You have thought deeply about our purpose here.” She twisted her fingers together once more. “It is why I had hoped to speak of this with you.”

He stared her in bemusement as she started to pace again. “At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favour of experience and tell ourselves it was necessary, for the people.” She turned to look at him again. “Will that happen to us, Fenris? Will we repeat history?”

He rubbed his mouth again. He genuinely wasn’t sure what to tell her. Cassandra was a woman of faith, and that faith had been the guiding light in her life. It seemed that she was having something of a crisis of faith, and Fenris felt like the least qualified person to help her through this. 

Another small jolt of sadness struck his chest as he studied her stern but hopeful face. He knew why Cassandra was really asking him this. Despite their friendship, and despite everything he’d told her and the others about the truths they’d learned in the Fade, Cassandra still saw him as the Herald of Andraste. She still saw his involvement in all of this as a result of the Maker’s will. 

It was the Inquisitor that Cassandra wanted to speak with now, not Fenris. 

He sighed internally and pushed aside his genuine answer, which was a hearty _I-don’t-know._ “We can’t promise not to repeat the past,” he told her. “But we are learning more of it every day.” He gestured at the book on the table. “This tome of yours shows mistakes that you will not repeat. The Grey Wardens, the red Templars… they are cautionary tales, and we’re doing our best to heed them.” He sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “That is all we can hope for, is it not? To push forward and try not to repeat the mistakes of those around us.”

She nodded slowly as he spoke, then sat at the table once more. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s true.” She was quiet for a moment, then she smiled at him. “I will think on your words, Fenris. Thank you.”

He waved her off. “There is no need for thanks. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to accompany you to Caer Oswin.”

“Please, do not worry about that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her own. “In the future, however, remind me not to bring Cole, Solas, and Sera out again. It was not a restful journey.”

Fenris smirked at this. “Ah. No, I imagine it wasn’t. Sera was disgruntled, I imagine?”

“You imagine correctly,” she said. “I have never suffered so much complaining in my life.”

Fenris chuckled, then rose from the table. “Unfortunate, then, that I was planning on bringing them to the Emerald Graves.” 

Cassandra snorted. “If that is the case, Maker guide your path, Inquisitor.”

Fenris smiled at her, then took his leave. But by the time he’d reached the ground floor of the annex, his momentary levity had dissolved back into worry, primarily about the Tranquility ritual.

He made his way to Dorian’s usual spot in the library. Dorian was lounging in his large padded chair, and Hawke was cozily seated on the armrest with her bare feet resting in Dorian’s lap. There was an open book on her knees, and they seemed to be deep in the midst of a magical discussion. 

“... and that’s what adds to the pattern of stability across the entire network,” Hawke was saying. “But my father always taught it more as a matter of feeling than as a formula.” 

Dorian lazily waved his hand. “As you charming southerners would say, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I would argue that the formulaic method results in a finer, less… roughened feel to the barrier, shall we say.”

Hawke gave him a flat look and poked him in the arm. “You were going to say ‘barbaric’, weren’t you? You are such a smug Vint.”

Dorian grinned at her, then looked up as Fenris approached. “Ah look, the Inquisitor graces us with his presence!” he announced. “You can settle an argument for us. Whose barrier do you prefer: mine or Hawke’s? Now, before you answer–”

“Hawke’s,” Fenris said. He looked at her. “I need to speak to you for a moment.”

Her eyebrows rose. “All right.” She hopped off of Dorian’s chair, and Dorian snorted in disdain. 

“Nepotism,” he said loftily. “That’s what this is. An objective observer would agree that my barrier has a certain finish that’s far more pleasant.”

“Your barrier does have a certain finish,” Fenris said. “Like a cloying perfume, almost. It makes my eyes water.”

Dorian scoffed and inspected his nails. “Well, now you’re just trying to wound me.”

Fenris smirked, then led Hawke out of the library and onto the battlements that ringed the tower. He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, then leaned his elbows on the battlements and jumped into the problem without preamble. “Cassandra told me something disturbing,” he said quietly. “She said the Seekers created the Rite of Tranquility, and they have known how to reverse it all along.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped in shock. “You’re shitting me.”

“No,” Fenris said. “From what she described, every Seeker becomes Tranquil in the course of their initiation. They enter a meditative state to empty themselves of emotion. Then the state of Tranquility is undone when… when a spirit of faith touches their minds.”

Hawke’s eyes grew larger as Fenris spoke. “Wait. So… so they become Tranquil on purpose?”

Fenris nodded, and Hawke leaned back against the battlements. “That’s fucking insane. Who would voluntarily do that?” she demanded.

Fenris shrugged helplessly. “Seekers, it seems. Though it seems they are also unaware that that’s what they are doing. Regardless, the Rite of Tranquility can be undone.” He took a deep breath. “And Cassandra intends to spread the news of this cure when the time is right.”

Hawke’s expression lifted with surprise — and delight, as Fenris had expected. “Well, that’s fantastic!” she said. “Imagine if we could cure all the Inquisition’s Tranquil! They could be themselves again–”

Fenris held up a hand in warning. “They don’t return to the way they were. Cassandra says the Tranquil mages who are cured become… overly emotional. Irrational and uncontrolled.” He turned to face her. “I don’t want this knowledge getting out, Hawke. I don’t like it.”

She frowned. “Did you tell Cassandra not to say anything?”

“No,” Fenris said. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Fenris continued. “I trust that she will not say anything until she believes the cure is safe, and not until after Corypheus is defeated. But even then…” He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. “The risks of trying to help these Tranquil – of them regaining their powers without knowing if they can control them? Uncontrolled magic flaring freely at a mage’s every whim…” Memories from the Imperium flashed through his mind, moments where mages had lashed out in anger or revenge or for the sheer pleasure of exerting their power, and a shiver of revulsion ran down his spine. 

He looked at Hawke. “There is a reason that the Rite of Tranquility is used in the Circles.”

“Yes, and it’s a shitty reason,” Hawke said. Her voice was suddenly hard. “‘Hello, Circle mage, here are your choices: face a demon all by yourself, or have your entire personality erased.’ Fenris, I…” She clamped her lips shut and looked away. 

Fenris frowned. “Speak, Hawke. You don’t need to mince your words with me.”

She looked at him for a moment, then folded her arms. “Fine. I just can’t believe you still think there are circumstances where making someone Tranquil is a good thing,” she said fiercely. “Imagine if it was me. Imagine if I was stripped of everything that made life worth living. I wouldn’t even love you anymore! I – there would be nothing left of _me_ for you to love.”

He swallowed. The thought of Hawke as a Tranquil made his stomach lurch. “I know that. But–”

“Imagine if we had a child who was a mage,” Hawke went on ruthlessly. “Imagine if our imaginary child was in a fucking Circle and they were too scared to go through the Harrowing. Would you be willing to see a child of ours get turned into an unfeeling, uncaring–” 

“No,” Fenris snapped. “That is not what I would want.” He looked away from her and rubbed his face. 

Hawke was quiet for a moment. Then she stepped closer to him. “You knew how I would feel about this,” she said gently. “Why… I mean, was there something else...?” 

He shrugged and plucked at the red scarf on his wrist. In truth, he had been hoping that speaking with Hawke would help to calm the jittery feeling that was roiling in his chest. But perhaps it was unfair to place his problems on her shoulders when he was growing weary of others doing the same to him.

He shook his head. “No. It was just this. I… I thought you should know. But don’t tell anyone else,” he said warningly. “The fallout from making this public is more than I can bear to deal with right now.” He stepped away from the battlements. 

She took his arm to stop him. “Hey,” she said softly. She reached up and stroked the line of his jaw.

Fenris swallowed hard, then met her gaze. She studied his face in silence for a moment, then stepped close and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

She hugged him tightly and pressed her lips to his cheek, then to his ear. “This shit is weird, isn’t it?” she whispered. 

He scoffed quietly. “Yes, it is,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked his face against her neck.

They stood quietly on the battlements for some time, and Fenris focused on the mountain air filling his lungs and the solid warmth of Hawke’s body. When she eventually leaned away from him, it was with a smile on her face. “Every day is a new adventure, right?” she said brightly. “I don’t know about you, but I love learning new things. Who knows what new strange thing we’ll find out tomorrow?”

He smirked and shook his head. Her smile was cheeky, but her whiskey-coloured eyes were warm with sympathy even though she disagreed with him, and he loved her for it. 

He tipped her chin up and kissed her gently on the lips. “Go back to Dorian,” he murmured. “I will see you tonight.” 

She smiled and gave him a wink, then slipped back into the library. Fenris rested his palms on the battlements and took one more bracing breath, then headed back into the library and down the stairs. 

He had an hour or so before he had to meet with Josephine to deal with a new batch of irritating political problems. He headed for the training grounds, figuring that Bull and the Chargers would likely be there, but instead he found Blackwall studying the rack of training weapons with a morose look on his face. 

He looked up at Fenris’s approach. “Fenris,” he said with a small half-bow. “Would you care to train with me?”

“I would,” Fenris said. He selected a greatsword from the rack while Blackwall picked out a sword and shield, and they stepped into the training ring together. 

Fenris watched and waited until Blackwall rushed at him. Fenris parried his sword strikes, then dodged Blackwall’s attempted shield bash and swung his greatsword toward the back of Blackwall’s leg.

They froze with Fenris’s greatsword’s blade an inch from Blackwall’s thigh. “Well done,” Blackwall said. “Your point.” He smiled briefly, then stepped back. 

Fenris nodded and waited once again. Blackwall rushed forward, but this time he dodged to the side as Fenris raised his greatsword, forcing Fenris to clumsily jerk away from the swing of his sword. A handful of heartbeats later, they froze in a draw with the blade of Blackwall’s sword alongside his neck and the length of the greatsword along Blackwall’s belly. 

They froze again, then stepped apart. “Are you all right?” Fenris panted. Blackwall’s strikes were weaker than usual, almost as though his heart wasn’t in it. 

“I’m fine,” Blackwall said. He settled into a ready stance again. 

They met once more with a clash of blunted steel. A minute later, however, Fenris managed to catch Blackwall off balance, which was almost unheard of for the burly warrior.

Blackwall chuckled and shook his head as he stepped back. “Maker’s balls. Strange how rusty you can get after two days of rest.” He lifted his shield once more. “Again?”

Fenris lowered his sword. “Not when you are barely making this a challenge for me,” he said. “There is something on your mind. I can feel it in the weakness of your strikes.”

Blackwall sighed and rubbed his beard. “Damn it,” he muttered. He looked up at Fenris. “It’s… nothing, really. I was just…” He trailed off.

Fenris made his way over to the fence of the training ring and waited for Blackwall to collect his thoughts. Finally Blackwall spoke. “I was thinking about a time when I was a boy,” he said. “There were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father’s house. One day, they found a dog: a wretched little thing. It came to them for food. They caught it, tied a rope around its neck, and strung it up.” He looked at Fenris. “Do you know what I did?”

Fenris frowned slightly, and Blackwall lowered his head. “I did nothing. Not a damn thing.” He rubbed his face. “It was crying. I saw the kicking legs, the neck straining and twisting… and I turned around, went inside, and closed the door.” He sighed. “I could’ve told my father or alerted someone. I didn’t. I just… pretended it wasn’t happening. I may as well have tightened the noose myself.”

Fenris eyed him cautiously. “What makes you think of this now?” he asked. “If it is guilt for that little dog, I can ask Toby to step away.” Fenris gestured to the mabari, who was sitting just outside the training ring and panting happily.

Blackwall huffed. “Of course you’d make light of it. You make saving the world look easy. The rest of us can only dream of matching what you’ve done.” 

Fenris wilted slightly. As much as he enjoyed Blackwall’s down-to-earth company, it was always wearying to be reminded that the Warden saw him as a hero, particularly since Fenris absolutely did not feel like one. 

He leaned back against the fence of the training ring. “Nothing is easy,” he said bluntly. “And it is not about matching up to whatever you think I have done. It is… you do what you can,” he said. “You were trying to teach farmer’s sons to protect themselves from bandits when we first met. You’ve spent years fighting darkspawn. None of that was easy.” He shrugged. “Whatever you might have done or not done in the past, you’re no longer a small boy who walks away.”

Blackwall released a heavy sigh. “That’s the difficulty, isn’t it?” he said sadly. “There’s always some dog out there. Some fucking mongrel that doesn’t know how to stay away.” 

Fenris nodded slowly. “That is true. I’m certain you could clear a space in the stables for strays, however. Toby could train them to guard the gates.” 

Blackwall shot him a sideways glance, then chuckled faintly. “Think you’re a funny one, eh? All right, Fenris. Let’s try this again.” 

To Fenris’s relief, they returned to sparring. When Fenris called a stop an hour later to meet with Josephine, he and Blackwall were both satisfyingly sweaty and bruised, and it was almost enough to help him tolerate the stultifying three hours he spent in the ambassador’s office. 

After supper that night, he took shelter in his and Hawke’s bedroom to read, emerging close to midnight to play chess with Cullen while Hawke was at the Herald’s Rest with Sera and Blackwall. Much later that night, long after Fenris had finally scraped a victory over Cullen and retired to bed alone, Hawke stumbled into their bedroom. 

She fell onto the bed with a giggle, and Fenris moved over to let her in. “You smell of cider,” he murmured. “I take it you had a good time.” 

“Lovely time,” she slurred. “D’you know if you get Sera drunk enough, she caterwauls? I don’t mean sings. _Caterwauls._ It’s truly fucking awful and wonderful all at once.” She tossed her boots down beside the bed, then started clumsily pulling off her coat.

Fenris watched with rising amusement as she struggled, then slid out of the bed and padded around the bed to stand in front of her. He gently moved her hands aside and helped her out of her jacket, then carefully pulled off her shirt and began unlacing her bustier.

She smiled salaciously at him as he undressed her. “Hmmm, this is nice. What are you going to do once you’ve got me naked?”

“Fetch a glass of water and a basin in case you vomit,” he deadpanned. He dropped her trousers on the ground, then jerked his chin at the bed. “Get in.”

“I won’t vomit,” she said belligerently. “What sort of amateur do you think I am?” She snuggled into the covers as Fenris bustled around the room for water and a basin, and as soon as he returned to the bed, she shuffled over and pressed her naked body against him. 

She plucked at his cotton shirt, and Fenris patiently pried her fingers away and kissed her knuckles. “Go to sleep, Hawke,” he murmured. 

She chuckled drowsily, then wrapped her arm around his waist. “Blackwall and Sera are so cute,” she mumbled. “I think he sees her as the daughter he never had. Funny how family happens like that, isn’t it? Comes out of nowhere. Merry castleful of misfits.” 

Fenris hummed an acknowledgement. This was Hawke’s specialty, after all: constructing a family for herself from a disparate group of people thrown together through sheer chance and circumstance. In contrast, the only family Fenris really needed was right here in this bed.

Her sneaky fingers slid beneath his shirt, and he smirked indulgently as she petted his chest. A moment later, she spoke again. “Fenris, d’you want to have a family someday?”

For a moment, he stopped breathing. An imaginary child appeared in his mind: Hawke’s chestnut hair and his green eyes in a round-cheeked face –

He shoved the fantasy aside and inhaled carefully. “Do you?” he asked.

She tutted. “Don’t do that. I’m asking _you_ a question.”

“And you are very drunk,” Fenris pointed out. “Charmingly so, but–”

“And you’re deflecting,” Hawke interrupted. With some difficulty, she propped herself up on one elbow. “You want a baby, don’t you?”

Fenris nervously licked his lips. They shouldn’t speak of this while she was drunk, especially since they had only ever talked about having children in oblique and humorous terms even while sober. But she was watching him attentively — more attentively than he would have expected, given her inebriation — and her expression was open and curious, and… well, it was unlikely she would remember this tomorrow. 

“I wouldn’t rule it out. If _you_ were interested,” he hedged. He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Do you want a child?” 

“Right now? No,” she scoffed. “Maker’s balls, can you imagine having a baby in the midst of this fucking mess? No, absolutely not.”

Fenris nodded. “And… what if it were not… now?”

She tilted her head. “You mean after all of this is done?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Would you… would you want a child with me?”

She studied him silently for a moment, and Fenris watched with a pounding heart as a brilliant, beautiful smile bloomed across her face. She traced the edge of his cheek with one finger, then laughed. “You’re right. I am too drunk for this.” She snuggled down on his chest once more. “Imagine me as a mother. Fuck’s sakes, I’d probably forget the baby somewhere and then it would get raised by wolves.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Which wouldn’t be so bad, really. You know what Solas says about wolves.” She lowered her voice mockingly to a smooth, calm tone. “‘They’re intelligent, practical creatures that stupid people think of as terrible beasts.’ Or whatever it was that he said.” 

Fenris frowned slightly. Carefully so as not to jostle her too much, he rolled onto his side to look at her. “You would make a fine mother, Hawke.”

She chuckled fuzzily. “Don’t be daft. I’d most certainly leave it somewhere by accident. Or mistake its bald baby head for Solas. Imagine me cradling Solas’s head to my bosom and rocking _him_ to sleep…” She snickered and cuddled closer to Fenris’s body, and he slowly ran his fingers through her tufty hair. As always, he could see that there was some genuine fear beneath her jokes. But the hour was late, and Hawke was deep in her cups… and now was not the time to address her worries. 

She curled her fists against his chest, then kissed his neck. “You would be a great father,” she whispered. “All strict and firm and disciplined. But also huggy. You give the best hugs. And no one reads bedtime stories better than you.” 

A sudden fist of doubt squeezed his heart. Somehow in his passing fancies of having a child with Hawke, he hadn’t taken the time to imagine himself as a father. To think of himself doing fatherly duties the likes of which he had no memory: reading stories, and changing diapers, and… and other things that he wasn’t certain of. How could he be so bold as to imagine being a father if he couldn’t even remember being a child?

“You’d be fantastic,” Hawke mumbled sleepily, as though to answer his unspoken worries. “Better than me for sure.”

He pulled back slightly to look at her. Her eyes were closed, but her smile was curved with conviction. 

Fenris gently pushed her hair back from her forehead. She opened her eyes, and for a moment they simply gazed at each other in the darkness. 

She tilted her chin up slightly, and Fenris slowly lowered his lips to hers. Her mouth was pliant and sweet, and her tongue tasted of cider. He lingered in the taste and feel of her, leaving kiss after kiss on the pillows of her lips until her kisses softened with slumber. 

He carefully tucked her head beneath his chin, then closed his eyes. The world was full of uncertainties and uncharted dangers, but all Fenris and Hawke could do was tackle them one day at a time. 

And perhaps someday, when Corypheus was dead and this cursed mark was stripped from Fenris’s hand, he and Hawke might walk into another, more promising sort of uncertainty altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …… Hi it’s me apparently I’m incapable of _not_ updating unless I am literally out of the country bahahaha
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this talky chapter! The next few will focus on loyalty missions, just FYI. 
> 
> As always, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by! :)


	34. By Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly dedicated to Blackwall’s loyalty mission. It’s titled after the famous Shakespeare quote, but it’s also the title I used for my first-ever piece of Dragon Age writing, which was [a smutty/angsty Blackwall oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151414) that I had to write during my first playthrough to process my feels about Baewall, even though I was romancing Solas at the time. Shameless plug if anyone’s interested in reading it. XD

The next morning, Fenris and Hawke had barely set foot in the Great Hall when a messenger ran up to them.

“Your Worship. Champion,” he panted. “Warden Blackwall is gone.” 

Fenris frowned. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He has left the Inquisition,” the messenger said. 

“What?” Hawke blurted. “Bullshit. He wouldn’t just leave.”

The messenger held out a note. “This was found in the stables this morning. Sister Nightingale’s people are searching the stables for further information.”

Fenris dumbly took the note, and he and Hawke read it together.

> Fenris, 
> 
> You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve given me the wisdom to know right from wrong, and more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. 
> 
> It has been my honour to serve you. Please tell ~~Lady~~ Hawke I am sorry about the shoes. Would that I had the time to pay her back. 

Fenris looked at her in bemusement. “What is this about shoes?”

She shook her head impatiently. “Just some dumb bet from last night,” she said. “I don’t understand the rest of this note, though. What is he talking about here, ‘the courage to uphold the former’?” She looked at Fenris, her brow creased with confusion. “Did he say anything about this to you?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, I…” He rubbed his mouth. “He was talking about a dog yesterday.”

“A dog?” Hawke demanded. 

“A memory from his childhood,” Fenris explained. “He spoke of how it is easier to turn your back and look away than to take action when you witness evil. It didn’t occur to me that he was speaking of something specific.” He looked at Hawke. “He didn’t seem off to you last night at the tavern?”

“I mean, he was a little more quiet than usual,” she said. “But he was drinking with me and Sera and laughing at our jokes and everything. I didn’t…” She trailed off and rubbed the note between her fingers. When she looked up at Fenris again, her face was twisted with distress. “I don’t like the sound of this note, Fenris. I’m getting a bad feeling about it.” 

“Let us go to the war room,” he suggested. “Perhaps Leliana’s people have found something.”

As predicted, Leliana’s scouts had turned up a clue in the stables: a page that Blackwall appeared to have taken from one of her reports. She handed Fenris the page. “It is about a man named Cyril Mornay,” she said. “He is to be executed in Val Royeaux within the week for his involvement in the Callier Massacre.”

“The Callier Massacre?” Hawke asked. She was rubbing nervously at her wedding band as she spoke. “What is that?” 

“It was quite the scandal in Orlais in 9:37,” Josephine said. “Lord Callier was a prominent supporter of Empress Celene. He and his entire family were murdered during a vacation. The man responsible was a Captain of the Orlesian Army named Thom Rainier.” She tapped her fingers delicately on the war table. “It is believed that Captain Rainier was bought off by supporters of Grand Duke Gaspard, though the Grand Duke’s involvement was never proven.”

“All right, fine, some Orlesian political scandal and so on,” Hawke interrupted impatiently. “What the fuck does this have to do with Blackwall?”

“We don’t know, Hawke,” Leliana said softly. “But it’s clear that he had some personal interest in the matter. I suspect he has gone to Val Royeaux.”

“Great,” she said. She looked at Fenris. “Then we’ll go to Val Royeaux to track him down. Right?”

“Why?” Fenris said. 

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Fenris shrugged. “His note made it clear that he is finished with the Inquisition. Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be tracked down.”

Hawke gaped at him for a moment. “You must be kidding,” she finally burst out. She picked up Blackwall’s note from the table and shook it. “This is a suicide note!” 

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think that?”

“It feels so final! Look at this.” She pointed at the note. “This honour bit, like he’s saying a big farewell. And what is this courageous act he has to do? That just smacks of some sort of sacrifice.” She laughed, but the sound was tight with strain. “These Grey Wardens and their fucking self-sacrifice, I swear. They’re such party poopers.” 

Fenris studied the note with a frown. Perhaps Hawke was right, especially given Blackwall’s unusual glumness yesterday. 

Cullen spoke up. “You may want to track him down on the grounds of desertion.”

Fenris looked up. “Blackwall wasn’t a conscript,” he said. “Nobody in the Inquisition is.” Fenris had been trying to stick to this principle since the Inquisition began. The idea of forcing anyone to fight against their will simply rubbed him the wrong way. 

“That is true,” Cullen said. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t make a commitment to our cause. If you wish to make an official investigation into his departure on those grounds, we could provide you with the resources to find him more quickly.”

Fenris looked at Hawke. She was gazing at him pleadingly and rubbing nervously at her rings. 

“All right. We will go to Val Royeaux,” he said, and some of the tension instantly left Hawke’s shoulders. He looked up at the advisors. “Let Cassandra know; I would like her to come along. And Cole, I suppose,” he added. Cole was still under Fenris’s orders to remain at Cassandra’s side until Isabela found an amulet of the type that Solas had suggested. 

Hawke clapped her hands. “Lovely! An impromptu trip to Val Royeaux. Just what we needed.” She smiled at Josephine and Leliana. “Can I bring you ladies anything from the market?”

Josephine’s eyebrows rose. “Oh – no thank you, Lady Rynne, that’s quite all right.”

“You certain?” Hawke said. “I’m a great believer in making errands as efficient as possible. If we can stop a Grey Warden from offing himself while doing a little shoe-shopping at the same time, that’s my idea of time well spent.”

_And the jokes begin,_ Fenris thought sadly. “Come on, Hawke,” he said. “Let’s pack for this journey.” He gently ushered her toward the door with a hand at the center of her back. 

“I mean, it could be worse, right?” she said. “He could have gotten all concerned about some random execution taking place in the Fallow Mire. Now that’s a place where it would be hard to double-up your errands.” She laughed. 

Fenris pushed open the door from Josephine’s office back into the Great Hall, and Hawke continued with the witty remarks as they made their way back to their bedroom. “Maybe the Inquisition just wasn’t enough excitement for him,” she said. “I mean, you’d think our offering of baddies was quite solid, what with the whole undead-darkspawn-magister thing. But maybe that was too boring.”

Fenris pushed open the door to their bedroom, and Hawke idly patted his bum as she slid past him. “Really though, what in the Void was he thinking? Haring off to Val Royeaux at a moment’s notice? I can tell you they probably won’t let him through the gates with that beard of his. He doesn’t look nearly well-groomed enough to fit in.” 

Fenris pulled their travel packs out of the armoire. “I hardly this was a random execution that caught his interest,” he said. 

Hawke sighed as she walked over to the dresser. “No, I know. You’re probably right. He must know this man who’s going to be killed — this Mornay person.” She started pulling clothes from the dresser and tossing them haphazardly on the bed. 

“I would go further still,” Fenris said. He sat on the edge of the bed and began refolding the clothes that she’d tossed on the bed. “I suspect Blackwall was involved in the crime.”

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and he shrugged. “You suspected months ago that he had a secret,” he reminded her. “Perhaps this is it.”

Her eyes widened. “I did suspect that, didn’t I? I impress even myself sometimes.”

Fenris scoffed. Hawke smiled briefly before turning back to the dresser. A moment later, however, she turned back to Fenris with a frown. “But wait a minute. Josephine said the Callier massacre took place in 9:37. Blackwall was wandering around the Storm Coast recruiting new Wardens at the time. He couldn’t have been involved.” 

Fenris paused. “Ah. That is true.”

He and Hawke frowned at each other for a moment. Then she shrugged and began tossing clothes onto the bed once more. “Either way, he’s clearly decided to martyr himself for… whatever this is. And you know what, I’ve had enough of that shit.” She strode over to the bed and started shoving clothes into her travel pack. “Bloody Grey Wardens,” she said with a chuckle. “This whole, ‘I have a sad-sack secret plan that I can’t tell you, but I’m going to be sad about it anyway and then I’m going to either die or disappear afterwards’ thing? I’m getting rather sick of it, I have to admit.” 

Fenris looked up from his pack. Now he understood why she was so upset. 

“Hawke,” he said cautiously. “This is not a Chantry-explosion situation. Blackwall is not like Anders. Whatever his reason for–”

“I asked him,” she burst out. She wasn’t even making the pretense of being lighthearted now. “I fucking asked him what was wrong in the tavern last night because he was being so mopey. He told me he was fine, he… he made some joke to Sera, and then we had another round of drinks, and… why didn’t he just talk to me?” She reached her arm around her middle and scratched at her left-side ribs. 

Fenris instantly rose from the bed and took her hand to stop her from scratching. “How can you think you are at fault for this?” he demanded. 

“I should have known something was wrong,” she snapped. “No, I _did_ know. I knew he was acting strange. It’s not like him to be that bloody morose. These fucking Grey Wardens!” she burst out. “I hate this stupid attitude of theirs.” She adopted a mocking voice. “‘The only way to know you’re doing the right thing is if you’re about to die.’ Never mind if you’re leaving anyone behind who might care about you. Such a fantastic healthy attitude, that.” 

Fenris stepped closer to her and tilted her chin up. “Nobody is about to die,” he said quietly. “Don’t assume. You don’t know what we’ll find in Val Royeaux.”

Hawke smiled. “Luckily for me, I’ve got a very active imagination,” she said. “It conjures all sorts of lovely gory scenarios for me just to keep me on my toes.”

Fenris gazed seriously into her eyes until her shit-eating grin melted away. “This is not your fault,” he told her quietly. “Just like Anders’s… actions were not your fault. You can’t be held responsible for everyone else’s decisions.”

“I know, I know,” she said wearily. “Everything isn’t about me, right?”

Fenris froze. Those were the scathing words Carver used to say to her. For some reason, having her repeat them in this context felt oddly ominous.

She winced apologetically and pressed herself against his chest. “Fenris, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to be so dramatic. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Dorian.” She slid her arms around his waist in a loose embrace. “You’re right. There’s no reason to assume the worst. We’ll just go to Val Royeaux and see what’s going on, right?”

Fenris allowed himself to breathe. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we can buy some macarons while we’re there.”

She grinned and hugged him more tightly. “Now that’s a good plan. That’s why you’re the Inquisitor.”

He smirked at her. “That is the decision I hope to be remembered for: making budget allowances for the spurious purchase of Orlesian confectionery.” 

Hawke laughed, a genuine warm laugh, and Fenris relaxed. He pinched her waist, making her squeak in amusement, then gently disentangled himself from her arms. “Now come on, Hawke. Unpack your bag.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Unpack my–? Why?”

“Nothing is folded,” he said flatly. “You’re wasting space. You must conserve it.”

“For Orlesian confectionery?” she said slyly as she began pulling clothes out of her travel pack.

“Precisely,” he said. “And _that_ sort of thinking is why you’re the right hand of the Inquisitor.” He continued packing his neatly-folded clothes into his bag.

She grinned at him, then hugged him from behind. “You’re my favourite,” she said softly. 

He started folding Hawke’s clothes. “I’m glad to hear it. I am fairly fond of you, as well.” 

She snorted in amusement, and Fenris smiled and began to pack her bag while she hugged him. For a quiet, pleasant moment, he pretended that he was packing for a leisurely weekend trip and _not_ for the next problem on the Inquisition’s laundry list of never-ending crises. 

*********************

Five long days of travel later, Fenris stood near the guard’s desk in the Val Royeaux prison with Cole at his side. Hawke was still in the dungeon downstairs talking to Blackwall, and Cullen and Cassandra were outside speaking with one of Leliana’s scouts.

Fenris wearily leaned back against the stone wall and folded his arms. He couldn’t hear Hawke’s voice anymore, which meant she had finally finished shouting at Blackwall for leaving. 

_Thom Rainier, that is,_ he thought. He glanced at Cole, who was gazing vaguely at the bars in the prison window. 

“You knew about this,” he said quietly. “That he was responsible for the Callier murders.”

“Yes,” Cole said. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You expose everyone’s secrets. Nobody’s thoughts are safe from you. Why protect his?”

Cole blinked. “Everyone hides dead things. Everyone pretends. He wanted to fix it. He was a murderer, but he didn’t want to be. He made a new him.” He began to drift slowly around the room, his eyes roaming over the stone walls as though he was seeing something written there. “He _is_ Blackwall. He killed Rainier. He would stand between Rainier and the carriage, but he can’t. It doesn’t work like that. So he carries the bodies to remember.” 

Fenris eyed the spirit-boy appraisingly. As per Solas’s words, Cole’s purpose was to help; to heal those who were hurting, and to stop the innocent from being harmed. And Cole was able to read everyone’s most private thoughts. If Cole was convinced that Blackwall – _Thom Rainier_ — was truly a changed man… 

“You carry the bodies, too,” Cole said. 

Fenris frowned. “What?”

“Silent, stealthy, slipping through mist, fighting through the fog for freedom,” Cole said. “But you weren’t free. You were found. ‘Fenris,’ he said, and you were forced to listen.”

_Seheron._ Fenris swallowed hard. “I am aware of the parallels,” he said quietly.

Cole nodded. “That’s why you’re not angry.” 

Fenris huffed, then unfolded his arms. “I suppose I’m not, no.” 

Cole nodded again, and he continued to shuffle slowly around the room with his gaze fixed on the stone walls. 

Fenris watched him idly for a time. Then, moved by boredom, he finally decided to ask. “What are you doing?”

“Counting,” Cole said. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Counting what?” 

“All of it,” Cole said vaguely. “Three weeks and three days until my parole. Two years, seven months and six days until I go free. Five days until Marielle visits me. Six hours until I die.” He picked at one of the stones in the wall, then looked up at the equally grim stone ceiling. “They count what counts most.”

Fenris frowned. Then the door to the prison opened, and Cullen and Cassandra stepped inside.

Cassandra’s face looked like thunder. “Is Hawke quite finished?” she demanded. “I am ready to put this matter behind me, as I expect you are.”

Fenris shook his head. “Not yet. She’s still speaking with Black– with Rainier.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and moved toward the dungeon stairs. “He is not deserving of such a lengthy farewell. I shall–”

“Cassandra,” Fenris interrupted. “Let them talk. Besides, this will not be a farewell.”

She looked at him sharply. “What? What do you mean?”

“Rainier didn’t really want to leave the Inquisition,” Fenris said. “His goal was to save Mornay’s life, not to abandon the Inquisition.”

Cassandra scowled. “Fortunately, that choice is not up to him,” she said. “It is up to you.”

“Yes, it is,” Fenris said. 

Cassandra’s face went slack with surprise. “You would take him back?”

Cullen sighed. “I thought you may want to pass judgment on him yourself,” he said to Fenris. “If that’s your wish, we must move quickly.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He studied Cullen’s furrowed brow. “You also believe he should accept the death sentence?”

Cullen curled his lip. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust and betrayed ours. I despise him for it,” he spat. Then he sighed. “And yet... he fought as a Warden. Gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it.” He rubbed his chin. “Saving Mornay the way he did took courage; I’ll give him that.”

Fenris nodded. He thought back to Blackwall’s story about the helpless little dog. “It would not have been easy,” he said.

“I do not believe this,” Cassandra burst out. “Fenris, I cannot believe you would simply accept this betrayal!” 

Fenris gave her a slightly chiding look. “Have you not been listening to Varric’s stories of our companions in Kirkwall?” he drawled. “This is far from the first time Hawke and I have been lied to by a friend. At least this time it didn’t result in a war with the qunari,” he said, thinking of Isabela and her damned Tome of Koslun. “Or a war against the Chantry, in Anders’ case.”

“And that justifies your forgiveness?” she snapped. “That you have been betrayed before? 

“No,” Fenris said patiently. “But his contrition does.”

“You are willing to let this lie simply because he is _sorry_?” Cassandra said in disbelief. 

Fenris studied her curiously. He hadn’t seen her this angry since the day they had first met. “He is more than sorry,” he said. “He has attempted to make up for the past.”

She shook her head in disgust, and Fenris frowned. “Cassandra, you don’t know what it is to kill innocents. To have that blood etched into your hands and lingering in your soul. The knowledge of your own actions… it is a stain that can never be undone. It is something you cannot forget, no matter how much you wish you could run from it.”

“He _did_ run from it,” Cassandra retorted. “He ran and hid from his own crimes for years.”

“He attempted to start over and leave the ugliness of his past behind,” Fenris said. “It’s a wish I can understand.” He steadily held her gaze as he spoke. She knew the broad strokes of what had happened with the fog warriors in Seheron: how Fenris had betrayed and murdered the very people who had taken him in. 

She scowled. “It is not the same,” she snapped. “You did not have a choice in Seheron. Rainier did. He chose to attack that caravan! He chose to run and to leave his men to take the fall!”

For the first time since Cullen and Cassandra had entered the prison, Cole spoke up. “‘Mockingbird, mockingbird.’ Too many voices in the carriage. Maker, they're young,” he murmured. “If I tell my men to stop, they'll know it was all a lie. Cold, trapped, heart hammering like axes on a carriage door.”

Cassandra frowned at Cole. Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps he had less of a choice than you think,” he said. “Even those who live without chains are still bound: by fear, by tradition, by honour.” He glanced at the stars down to the dungeon. “Slaves dream of freedom, but I have found free men dream of it even more.” 

Cassandra stared at him, and Fenris watched as her scowl softened slightly. Finally she huffed and folded her arms. “You condone this, then. This lie, this… this identity theft. It truly does not bother you?”

“Of course I would have preferred if he’d told us before,” Fenris said. “But he has done no wrong since joining us. If he was the same man who murdered a family for coin, he could have turned on us and sold our plans and our movements to any number of people.” He shrugged and casually leaned back against the wall. “He is not that man anymore. People can change, sometimes.”

“Yes, they can,” Hawke suddenly said from the dungeon stairs. “Sometimes they just need someone to have a bit faith in them.” She was gazing at Fenris with a tiny smile.

Cassandra pursed her lips, then nodded stiffly to Fenris and Hawke. “I will wait outside until your business here is finished,” she said, and she turned on her heel and stalked out of the prison. 

Hawke whistled softly and stepped over to Fenris’s side. “Wow. Very wrathful and unforgiving, she is. It would be sexy if it wasn’t so terrifying.”

Fenris tenderly studied her face. She was smiling as always, but her eyes were reddened.

He surreptitiously squeezed her hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” she said cheerfully. “Thom might not be, though. I absolutely tore him a new one.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes. We, er, heard much of your diatribe.” He looked at Fenris expectantly. “We will arrange for Rainier’s transport back to Skyhold, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We should make our own arrangements, as well. Let’s not linger in this place longer than necessary.” 

Hawke snickered as she followed Fenris and Cullen to the door. “When you put it that way, you make Val Royeaux sound about as appealing as the Fallow Mire.”

“It _is_ as appealing as the Fallow Mire,” Cullen groused. 

“I agree,” Fenris said. 

Hawke laughed and slung her arms around their necks. “Oh, the two of you. So grumpy about any place with even a touch of class.” She kissed Fenris on the cheek, then released them both and skipped toward the prison door. “I’m just going to run to the pâtisserie and fetch some macarons before we go.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You were serious about that?”

She turned to look at him with wide eyes. “You weren’t?” She grinned at him, then winked and slipped out the door. 

Cullen shook his head in exasperation as he followed her out. Fenris nodded politely to the prison guard, but before he could step outside, Cole spoke again. “It’s not the betrayal that makes her angry. It is herself.” 

“I know that,” Fenris said quietly. He pushed open the prison door and gestured for Cole to pass. “I will remind Hawke that it’s not her responsibility–” 

“Not Hawke,” Cole said. “Cassandra.” He plucked idly at his sleeve as he floated past Fenris through the door. “First Varric, now Blackwall. What else have I failed to see?” 

_Oh._ Suddenly Fenris understood. He glanced at Cassandra, who was speaking to Cullen with her arms folded and a scowl on her face. Cullen nodded, then gestured for two Inquisition scouts to follow him as he strode toward the gaudy golden gates of Val Royeaux. 

Fenris and Cole approached Cassandra, and she nodded brusquely. “Cullen is making arrangements for our transport back across the Waking Sea. He would rather travel by horseback, of course, but–” 

Fenris cut her off. “You couldn’t have known that Blackwall wasn’t… Blackwall.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, and Fenris waited silently. Finally she shook her head. “I should have known,” she said forcefully. “I am a Seeker of Truth, Fenris. It is my duty to know the truth. Have I allowed everyone to pull the wool over my eyes?” She blew out a gusty sigh. “I did not pay close enough attention. I should have known.”

“In that case, I expect you’ll shout at Leliana when we get back to Skyhold,” Fenris said.

Cassandra frowned. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “She is the spymaster. _She_ should have known.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened. “Rainier stole a page from her report. It was hardly her fault…” She trailed off as Fenris gave her a knowing look.

She knew what he was driving at; he could tell from her sour expression. He said it anyway. “You would forgive our spymaster for her lapse, but not yourself?”

Cassandra eyed him resentfully for a moment, then snorted and looked away. “You can be irritatingly logical sometimes, Inquisitor.”

Fenris nodded. “Thank you, Seeker. I shall accept that as praise.” 

She shot him a look that was somewhere between a smile and a scowl, and Fenris smirked. A few minutes later, Hawke hurried over with a pale pink box in her hands. 

“Macarons, anyone?” she said brightly. She opened the box with a flourish. “I bought a selection. A flavour for every palate, I hope.” 

Cassandra peered into the box. “Is that blueberry?” she asked. 

“I think so, yes,” Hawke said. “Do you fancy it? Go ahead, enjoy!” 

Cassandra frowned at the macarons for a moment longer, then straightened. “No, thank you. We should meet with Cullen.” She started walking away with Cole ambling obediently at her side, and Fenris and Hawke fell into step a few paces behind them.

“Light pastry with blueberries, sticky on your fingers,” Cole said dreamily. He blinked at Cassandra. “Small hands reaching as Anthony tears his in half. But when you got to the kitchen, they were all gone.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Cassandra chuckled. “Ah, yes. They are delicious, but do not last long.”

“I could get you one,” Cole suggested. “The cooks don't see me.”

Cassandra tutted, but her tone was gentle when she replied. “Just because they don't see you doesn't mean it isn't theft.”

Hawke leaned in close to Fenris. “Aw,” she crooned. “The Seeker and the spirit making friends. Next thing we know, the mages and Templars will be having slumber parties and braiding each other’s hair.”

Fenris eyed Cassandra and Cole. “She does appear more comfortable with him than before. A consequence of his subtle manipulations of her mind, no doubt.”

Hawke shot him a look of rebuke. “Come on, Fenris. I know you don’t really think he’s manipulating her. You’re getting more comfortable around him too.” She took a little bite of macaron, then continued talking while she chewed. “Besides, if Cole making people feel comfortable is manipulative, then anyone with any kind of charm is a master manipulator.” 

Fenris grunted. “I wouldn’t say that. _You_ are not manipulative.” 

Hawke smiled slowly at him. “Is that your way of saying I’m charming? You smooth talker. Trying to butter me up for later, are you?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

He smirked. “Shut up, Hawke.” He took the half-eaten macaron from her hand and popped it in his mouth. 

She chuckled and selected another macaron from the box, and they continued to share the fussy Orlesian treats as they followed in Cole and Cassandra’s wake. Fenris knew Hawke wasn’t truly feeling as bright and cheery as her behaviour would imply, but for once, he wasn’t worried. 

For once, this was a problem that Fenris could actually fix.

**********************

It took nearly a week to return to Skyhold from Val Royeaux, and almost another week before Thom Rainier was finally transported back to the castle. The waiting time was far from relaxing, however; a number of new issues and problems were brought to Fenris’s attention, the most unusual of them being an alliance offer from the qunari. 

When Bull told Fenris about the offer, Fenris couldn’t disguise his skepticism. “The qunari don’t believe in alliances,” he said flatly. “We are nothing more than uneducated _bas_ to them. Why should I trust this offer?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” Bull said. “The qunari don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they really don’t like red lyrium. ‘The enemy of my enemy’ and all that.” He casually shoved Krem back with his practice shield, then tutted at his second-in-command. “Again,” he growled.

Krem gave a determined nod and rushed Bull again, and Bull continued to speak to Fenris as he held Krem back. “Ordinarily, I’d say you’re right to be suspicious. But they’ve identified themselves. They’re not running a game on you.” He sent Krem sprawling with a sudden shove. 

Krem grunted as he hit the ground, but he rose to his feet without complaint. “They’ve found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the Storm Coast, and they want us to hit it together,” he told Fenris. “Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts.” He grinned fiercely at Bull. “Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

Bull chuckled indulgently. “Bloodthirsty Vint.” He waved for Krem to attack him again. 

Krem charged at Bull once more, and Fenris watched for a moment before speaking. “The problem is your left leg,” he said to Krem, who was gritting his teeth with effort. “If you–”

“Hey, don’t tell him,” Bull complained. “He’s got to learn on his own.” He lowered his massive shoulder toward his shield and shoved hard.

Krem stumbled back once more and rubbed the back of his head in frustration, and Bull _tsk_ ed and pointed at the Herald’s Rest. “Go get some water,” he ordered.

Krem shot Fenris a rueful smile as he trudged away to the tavern. Bull folded his arms and shook his head at Krem’s departing back, but his lips were curved in a smirk. 

“He’ll figure it out,” he told Fenris confidentially. “The harder you push him, the harder he works.” 

Fenris nodded thoughtfully. Bull’s tone was matter-of-fact but his smile was undeniably proud, and as always when he spent time with Bull, Fenris was reminded of just how different he was from the other qunari Fenris had known. There was no mistaking the camaraderie Bull had with the Chargers, and there was no mistaking the fondness in Bull’s rugged face as he watched Krem walking away. Even the story of how Bull and Krem had met set Bull apart: he’d sacrificed his eye to save the life of a man he didn’t even know. Fenris had never known qunari to do such a thing for someone who didn’t belong to the Qun. Bull claimed that he’d been re-educated and that he stood with the Qun, but Fenris just didn’t _see_ it. 

This wasn’t to say Fenris entirely trusted Bull. The mercenary captain was still a self-proclaimed spy, and as long as that remained true, his primary loyalty was to Par Vollen. 

“Joining forces with the qunari could inspire outrage from our other allies,” Fenris said. “I’m surprised Leliana approved of this.” He picked up the practice shield that Krem had set down, then turned to face Bull. 

Bull grinned and waved for Fenris to attack. Fenris paused, then rushed at him with the shield. 

Their shields slammed together with a force that reverberated into Fenris’ arms. Fenris pushed back, keeping his left foot turned just so and his left leg steady to withstand the assault.

Bull grunted in approval at Fenris’s technique. “Red didn’t necessarily approve. She just gave me the go-ahead to run it past you,” he said. 

Fenris clenched his teeth as he withstood the pressure from Bull’s shield. They both held for a long, tense moment – long enough for Fenris’s muscles to start burning – then, by unspoken agreement, they both relaxed at the same time.

Fenris stepped back and took a deep breath. “I can’t agree to a formal alliance with the qunari. Not after everything I saw in Kirkwall,” he said baldly. “But I can agree to eliminating this red lyrium operation with the qunari’s assistance.” He hunkered into a ready-stance once more. “Would this compromise suffice?”

Bull twisted his lips, then waved for Fenris to attack, and Fenris rushed him once more. Their shields met with a loud _crack_ of wood on wood, and Fenris braced himself as Bull replied. “I’ll run it past them,” he grunted. “They probably won’t be happy, but they’d be even less happy if Corypheus and his Ventatori cronies ran rampant all over their territory.”

“ _Their_ territory meaning all of Thedas?” Fenris panted. Then he sent a small burst of energy from his lyrium marks through his shield. 

The pressure from Bull’s shield lessened _very_ slightly, and Fenris shamelessly took advantage to shove harder into the mercenary captain.

Bull stepped back – a very small step, but it might as well have been a stumble. “ _Vashedan_ ,” he cursed, and he lowered his shield with a chuckle. “You and your dirty tricks.”

Fenris lowered his shield. “Tevinter tricks. You know better than this.” He tilted his head. “You are disturbed by this offer of an alliance, aren’t you?”

Bull shrugged easily. “Nah, I’m good.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Bull finally sighed and scratched his ear. “It’s, uh… I’m used to them being over there. It’s been a while.”

Fenris frowned. “Was it not your hope for the qunari to conquer Thedas?”

“I mean… yeah,” Bull said slowly. “Just didn’t think I’d see it.”

Fenris studied him quietly, and he shrugged. “Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people. But it’s a big change, and a lot of folks here wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life.” He waved at Fenris. “You would have a hell of a time being re-educated, for instance. They’d have to go hard on you. And they’d probably try to strip that lyrium right out of your skin. I suspect you wouldn’t like that too much.”

Fenris lifted his chin and folded his arms, and Bull innocently lifted his hands. “I’m not saying they will. It’s not like we’re converting. We’re just… joining up to kill some filthy Vints.” He lowered his hands and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “On that front, I think we’re good.”

Fenris eyed him for a moment longer. He wondered whether Bull had even noticed his own phrasing when he’d said ‘it’s not like _we’re_ converting’. 

Finally he unfolded his arms. “All right,” he said. “Let your people know we will work with them on this mission.” 

Given this new development, Fenris decided – with some disgruntlement – to head to the Storm Coast to meet the qunari instead of going to the Emerald Graves right away. By the time Cullen’s men were leading a chained and defeated-looking Thom Rainier up to the Inquisitor’s throne for judgment, Fenris was quite ready to tackle the next problem on the Inquisition’s list. 

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of his throne as Josephine read out the usual preamble. “For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formally known to us as Warden Blackwall. His crimes…” She darted a guarded look at Rainier before going on. “Well, you are aware of his crimes,” she said hurriedly. “It was no small expense to bring him here, but the decision of what to do with him is now yours.”

Fenris sat forward on the throne. “Is there anything you wish to say before I deliver my verdict?” he said brusquely to Rainier. 

Rainier shot him a quick and oddly resentful look. “Would it make any difference? I know you abused the Inquisition’s power to bring me here.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “We openly told the Empress that the Inquisition would prefer to judge their own,” he said. “It is hardly an abuse of power.” He leaned back in his chair, then shifted uncomfortably; he would never grow accustomed to being put on display on this awful throne. 

He scowled in annoyance, then gave Rainier a flat look. “Would you rather I have swapped you out for another man?” he said archly. “That was an option.” 

Rainier shot him a stricken look. “You must be kidding.” 

Fenris shook his head. “I’m not. But it was a choice I declined.” He sat forward in his chair again. “You’re a man with an ugly past. Innocent blood has painted your hands and shadowed your soul.” He tilted his head. “You are also a man who has tried to rectify it. Now _you_ have a choice.”

Rainier narrowed his eyes, and Fenris went on. “You have your freedom. It is your choice to decide what to do with it.”

Just as Fenris expected, there was a scandalized gasp from the assembled members of the Inquisition who were watching the proceedings, followed by a susurrus of interested – and disgruntled – murmurs. 

Rainier was glaring at him now. “It cannot be as simple as that,” he snapped.

Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees. “It is not simple,” he said seriously. “You know that. You know the courage it will take and the pain you will suffer to face yourself. But it is up to you to decide how you will do it.” He waved at the Great Hall. “Remain with the Inquisition if you want. Or you can go to Weisshaupt and join the Wardens in full. But you will not die for this.” He shrugged. “There is a saying in Tevinter: _na via lerno victoria._ ‘Only the living know victory’. Perhaps if you remain with the Inquisition, that victory will also be yours.”

By the time Fenris had finished speaking, Rainier’s head was hanging low once more. Fenris sat back in his horrible oversized throne and waited. 

Finally Rainier lifted his face. “The man I am… I barely know him. But he…” He took a deep, bracing breath. “ _I_ have a lot to make up for. If my future is mine, then I pledge it to the Inquisition. My sword is yours.”

Fenris gave him a small smile. “Good. I consider this matter settled.” He hurriedly vacated his throne and walked over to Josephine to sign her paperwork, then made his way over to Rainier’s side. 

Cullen’s men had removed his chains, and Hawke was giving him an enthusiastic hug. He gave Fenris a feeble smile as he approached. “If I’d said anything less, would an arrow from the rookery snuff me like a candle?” he quipped.

Fenris smirked. “Fortunately for you, you will never know.” 

Rainier’s smile broadened. Then Hawke pulled away from Rainier and smacked his broad chest. “Don’t do this again, you big beardy brute,” she said, and she smacked his chest again. “Now that I know you’re not a Warden, no more stupid Warden death-wish bullshit, all right?”

Rainier winced as she smacked him again. “All right, all right,” he said hastily. “I apologize, my lady.”

She snorted with laughter. “Don’t call me ‘my lady’,” she said. “You owe me a copper.” Then she suddenly burst into tears. 

She ran away toward the door to the quarters she shared with Fenris, and Rainier’s face was practically dripping with guilt as he watched her disappear through the door. “Is she… Did I… Should I apologize again?” he asked Fenris anxiously. 

Fenris shook his head. Hawke might be crying, but it was the good kind of crying for once – the kind that would ultimately end in laughter and relief. “It’s all right,” he told Rainier. “She will be fine.” He folded his arms. “So. Thom Rainier. It must be odd to go by your true name after so many years.”

Rainier grimaced and scratched his beard. “It is. I can hardly respond to it without feeling like there are beetles creeping into my collar.” He sighed. “Rainier was a different man. A worse man. I… I’m afraid to be that man again, Fenris.” 

Fenris nodded. “I understand that. I can assure you that if you become that man, I will kill you myself.”

Rainier looked at him in surprise, then gave him a respectful half-bow. “I would appreciate that, in fact. Thank you.”

Fenris nodded and studied Rainier appraisingly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his voice. “I have never told you this, but… Fenris is not my birth name.”

Rainier’s eyes widened. “It’s not?”

Fenris shook his head. “It was the name my master gave me in Tevinter. It wasn’t until years later that I… that I remembered my given name.” With a pang, he thought briefly of Varania; if not for their ill-fated meeting, he would never have remembered even that much.

“What is your given name?” Rainier asked curiously. 

Fenris took a deep breath. “It is Leto,” he said quietly. 

Rainier frowned slightly. “Why do you go by ‘Fenris’, then? Why not use your real name?”

Fenris shrugged philosophically. “By the time I recalled my birth name, I was no longer the same boy who wore that name. Leto was the name of my past. Fenris is the name I wear now.” He ran a thumb over the red scarf that was – and always would be – tied around his wrist. 

‘Fenris’ was once the hated name that Danarius had forced upon him, but in the years since Fenris had left Tevinter, the name had become his. ‘Fenris’ was _his_ name, the name for which he was known by his friends and the name that Hawke whispered lovingly in his ear as they moved together in their bed. 

Leto was his name, once upon a time. But Fenris was a different man – a free man – and his once-hated name was a reflection of that. 

Rainier took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. “I think I understand what you mean,” he said softly. “I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

Fenris nodded. “Good,” he said. “In the meantime, you should return to the stables. I’ve been told that Dennet has been complaining about the stableboys more than usual in your absence.”

Rainier smiled and gave Fenris a deep bow. “It’s my honour, Inquisitor,” he said, and he strode away toward the exit of the Great Hall. 

Fenris sighed in satisfaction, then made his way toward the door to his and Hawke’s quarters, intending to check on her. But as he glanced at the end of the Great Hall, he noticed Varric speaking to a dwarven woman. 

Fenris frowned. It didn’t particularly surprise him to see Varric speaking to a dwarven woman; Varric spoke to everyone, after all. What did surprise him was how uncharacteristically anxious Varric looked. 

He stepped away from the door to his and Hawke’s quarters and made his way toward Varric’s desk instead. As he drew closer, he caught the tail end of their conversation. 

“I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come yourself,” Varric said tensely. “What if the Guild found out? Or what’s-his-name?”

The dwarven woman chuckled. “Are you worrying for me, or for yourself?”

Varric shot her a flat look. “A little of column A, a little of column B. I am the expendable one, after all.” Then Varric flicked a glance in Fenris’s direction, and Fenris’s bemusement grew as the discomfort on Varric’s face deepened.

The dwarven woman, however, hadn’t noticed Fenris yet. “Aww, don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she crooned playfully to Varric. “We’ll just have to–” She broke off suddenly and turned around, then smiled. 

“You must be Fenris,” she said warmly. “Varric has only good things to say about you.” She held out her hand. “Bianca Davri, at your service.”

_Wait._ Fenris looked askance at Varric. “Bianca?” he said blankly.

Varric sighed. “Well, shit,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well shit, indeed. >_<
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to stop by! It was also just brought to my attention recently that I had anon asks turned off on my Tumblr, which I was unaware of. (Thanks Tumblr, YOU SUCK.) So you can now drop nonny random thoughts at me if you’re so inclined. xoxo


	35. Varric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I make cartoony doodles. I had a lot of Friendship Feels™ so I made a little doodle for this chapter, which you can see [here on Tumblr.](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/187382754223/fenrisfhawke-and-the-inquisition-varric)

Fenris politely shook Bianca’s outstretched hand. “You are the designer of Varric’s crossbow, then?”

Bianca shot Varric a lopsided grin. “You told him, huh? You two must be close.” 

Varric tugged his earlobe. “Yeah, well… the elf’s not a big talker.” He gave Fenris a shifty look, then frowned at Bianca. “You’re taking a huge risk coming here yourself,” he said. “Maybe for both of us.”

His tone was uncharacteristically stern, and it further piqued Fenris’s curiosity. Fenris had never seen Varric so concerned about protecting someone he did business with, and this only reinforced the suspicions he and Hawke had always had about Varric’s enigmatic contact in the Merchants’ Guild.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “You’re such a worrier,” she scolded. “There’s a giant hole in the sky. I think the Merchants’ Guild has bigger things to think about.”

Varric snorted skeptically. He glanced over Fenris’s shoulder, and his face creased with even more discomfort before settling into resignation. A second later, Hawke bounded over to join them.

“Hello boys! And girl, it seems,” she said cheerfully. She slung one arm around Varric’s shoulders and gave Bianca an appreciative once-over. “Who’s your lovely friend, Varric?”

He sighed quietly, then gestured to Bianca. “Hawke, this is–”

“Rynne Hawke?” Bianca said. “Well well, the Champion herself.” She offered her hand and looked Hawke over with interest. “You dragged Varric into a fair number of scrapes back in Kirkwall, didn’t you?”

Her tone was warm and friendly, but the comment still made Fenris raise an eyebrow. Hawke, however, laughed and shook Bianca’s hand. “Guilty as charged,” she said. “Purveyor of problems for Kirkwall’s most handsome dwarf, that’s me.” 

Varric shifted his weight awkwardly. “Ah, come on. We all dragged you into just as much shit as you dragged us.” 

Hawke batted her eyelashes at Varric. “Aren’t you sweet to try and minimize my disastrous leadership,” she crooned. She kissed the top of Varric’s head, and Fenris noted that Bianca’s eyebrows rose very slightly. 

He cleared his throat. “Hawke, this is Bianca Davri.” 

She whipped around to stare at him. “What?” she blurted. Then she turned to gape at Bianca with fresh excitement. “You’re Bianca? _The_ Bianca? Crossbow Bianca? Andraste’s tit, you don’t know how many times Varric saved our asses with that fabulous crossbow of yours. You know it took four whole years before he actually admitted that the crossbow was–” 

“–invented by you,” Fenris interrupted hastily, before Hawke could reveal that the crossbow was named after her. He couldn’t tell from Varric’s awkward expression whether it was something Bianca already knew. 

Hawke shot Fenris a very quick look before smiling at Bianca once more. “Yes, exactly,” she said. “You must be an extremely talented smith.”

“She really is,” Varric put in. 

Bianca chuckled and folded her arms. “Flatterer.” 

Hawke’s keen gaze flicked between the dwarves, and Fenris could practically see the questions writing themselves behind her eyes. He decided to step in before the conversation could devolve into an interrogation.

“What brings you to Skyhold, Bianca?” he asked. 

Varric sighed and tugged his ear again. “Bianca knows where Corypheus got his red lyrium,” he said. He looked sadly at Hawke and Fenris. “And so do you.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “The thaig Bartrand found?”

Bianca nodded. “The site has been leaked. There’s a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carrying out red lyrium by the cartful.”

“Oh shit,” Hawke said blankly. “So… so I guess there was more red lyrium down there than just the idol, then.” She grimaced apologetically at Varric, who shrugged morosely.

Fenris frowned at Varric. “But how did the location of the thaig get to Corypheus? Your brother was precious with that information.” He turned to Hawke. “You recall his threat to blindfold us until we arrived at the entrance.” 

Hawke snorted. “I still don’t think that was a joke.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t,” Varric said flatly, and Hawke smirked sympathetically at him.

Bianca waved dismissively. “How they found out isn’t important. What matters is that we know where they are now.”

Fenris nodded. “Where is the entrance they’re using?”

“In the Hinterlands,” Bianca said, to Fenris’s surprise. “Not far from Redcliffe Farm, actually.”

Hawke seemed equally surprised. “The Hinterlands?” she said incredulously. “But that’s so far from Kirkwall. There entire Waking Sea sits between the entrance we used and Redcliffe Village.” 

“The Deep Roads are all connected,” Varric reminded her. “Or they used to be.” 

“They went to every corner of the continent, maybe further,” Bianca added. “In theory, you could get to anywhere using the Deep Roads, but in practice…” She pulled a face. “Well, you’ve seen what’s down there. There’s a reason nobody uses them anymore.”

Hawke shot Fenris a resigned look. “And here we are, about to go back into them.”

“So it would seem,” Fenris said ruefully. 

Varric sighed. “Sorry, guys. I know this isn’t what we’d planned to do next…”

Fenris cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Don’t apologize. If we choke off Corypheus’s red lyrium supply, we are that much closer to destroying him.”

Bianca nodded briskly. “I’ll keep an eye on their operation. When you’re ready to shut it down, you’ve got my help.” She turned to Varric and tilted her head. “Try not to leave me waiting too long, Varric,” she drawled. “I’ve got my own work to do, you know.” With one last smile, she walked away, and Fenris couldn’t help but notice that Varric’s eyes followed her departure. 

Finally Varric sighed and looked up at him and Hawke. “Right. _That’s_ not going to be trouble at all.” 

“No, not at all,” Hawke said cheerfully. “It’ll just be a nice vacation. You know how the rosy glow of red lyrium complements my skin tone.”

Fenris shot her a sharp look. “Don’t joke about that,” he said quietly. 

She winced apologetically and squeezed his hand. Then she seated herself comfortably at Varric’s writing table and gave him an expectant look. 

“So,” she said. Somehow she managed to imbue the single syllable with an entire missive’s worth of meaning.

Varric glanced at her, then chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hawke…” 

She slumped forward on the table. “Varric, come on. We’re your best friends in the whole wide world. Talk to us!”

“Hawke,” Fenris said quietly, “perhaps Varric isn’t in the mood to speak of this.”

“That’s not the point,” she argued. “Sometimes some shit _needs_ to be said. Or written,” she added with a quick pointed look at Fenris. “Or it’ll eat you alive.”

Fenris pursed his lips, but he couldn’t deny the truth of her words. Even he had been incapable of silently carrying his feelings for Hawke for all those years before Danarius’s death. If not for the outlet of the scribbled pages he’d kept hidden beneath his mattress, Fenris wasn’t sure how he would have coped. 

He silently took a seat beside her at Varric’s table, and she smiled at him. Varric, on the other hand, frowned at them in annoyance. “What shit are you talking about?” he said. “There’s no shit.”

Hawke gave him a skeptical look, then perched her chin on her fists. “I always thought it was weird that we never met her. You sent a _lot_ of letters back and forth,” she said pointedly. “Keeping her away from us ruffians, were you?”

Her tone was playful, but her face was quite serious. Varric sighed heavily, then slowly sat at the table across from them. “I wasn’t… keeping her from _you_ , specifically.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows but stayed silent, and Fenris waited along with her. Then Varric sighed and sat back in his chair. “She’s married,” he said, very quietly. 

Hawke’s face went blank. “Oh. Oh. Shit.” Her eyebrows tilted with sympathy. “So you’re her, er…?”

Varric shrugged. “Yeah. We’re still… or we were. Are. Sometimes.” He scratched his ear awkwardly. “Not for a long time, though. Not since she moved to Orlais.” His eyes were on the fire as he spoke, and Hawke reached across the table and took his hand. 

“Have you known her for longer than her husband?” Fenris asked.

Hawke frowned at him. “Why does that matter?”

Fenris shrugged. “I’m simply curious. It provides context.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve… I’ve known her for longer.” He glanced around the Great Hall shiftily, then lowered his voice before going on. “Her husband was picked out by her family. She wasn’t exactly, er, thrilled about the match. But she agreed to it eventually.” He shrugged. “I heard the wedding was lovely. The one Bianca actually showed up for, anyway.”

“What do you mean, the one she showed up for?” Hawke said softly. 

Varric sighed and pulled at his ear. “We, um… tried to elope before her first wedding. It didn’t… work out.”

“Oh. Oh balls,” Hawke said sadly.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “I am… sorry, Varric,” he said slowly. 

Varric shrugged and gave them a little half-smile, and they were all silent for a moment. Hawke squeezed Varric’s hand once more before releasing him. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?” she asked.

“Their families are powerful in the Merchants’ Guild,” Varric explained. “If anyone found out…” He smirked wanly at them. “Well, I like being alive. The Guild are a cutthroat bunch. Literally. Not to mention that her family hates me. They were still sending assassins to Kirkwall by the time Cassandra dragged me away.” He chuckled.

Hawke grimaced. “Well, that’s fucking grim. But why didn’t you tell _us?_ ”

Varric raised an eyebrow, and she gestured at herself and Fenris. “It’s just us. You know we wouldn’t tell anyone. And come on, I told you everything when we were back in Kirkwall. I even told you about the time I had that filthy sex dream about Fenris and Sebastian and a desire demon.”

Fenris looked at her in startlement. “What?”

She patted his hand. “Don’t worry, I was in the dream too.”

He frowned. “That is hardly what I–”

Varric chuckled. “Hey, I never asked you to tell me about that dream.”

She waved her hand impatiently. “I know, I know, but I did anyway. That’s my point. Didn’t you _want_ to tell someone about all this? I mean…” She shot him a pleading look. “Varric, we’ve known each other for ten years and you didn’t say anything. We sort of guessed, but you didn’t _say_ anything. Wasn’t that… hard?”

Varric’s smile faded, and he glanced at the fire and sighed. Then they heard a startled cry from the rotunda. 

Fenris sat up straight at the unexpected sound. “Was that… Cole?” he said cautiously.

“Sounded like it,” Varric said. “Let’s see what’s going on.” He pushed his chair back from the table and made his way toward Solas’s office.

Hawke tutted softly as she and Fenris rose to follow Varric. “He’s avoiding.”

“You did take a rather aggressive approach,” Fenris said. 

She shot him a chiding look. “You know I have a point, though. If he didn’t tell _us_ about this, then he didn’t tell anyone. Has he just been sitting on this for over a decade and letting it fester?” 

Fenris shrugged helplessly. Hawke did have a point, but Fenris still couldn’t help but feel that they were prying.

“Everyone is not as compelled to share their life’s story as you,” he said gently.

“But Varric _is_ a storyteller,” she argued. “He told _my_ story. You can bet your life he’s going to tell yours when this is all done. Why wouldn’t he want to tell his own?”

“It is not a story,” Fenris said, more insistently now. “It is his life. It is private.” 

“I know that,” Hawke snapped quietly. “But if you can’t share your private shit with your closest friends, then what’s the point?”

Fenris pursed his lips. Again, she wasn’t wrong, and yet…

He placed his hand at the small of her back. “Come,” he muttered, and he ushered her into the rotunda.

Solas and Cole were standing in the middle of the office. Solas’s right hand was glowing with a faint green aura of magic, and a startled-looking Cole was rubbing his chest. 

“Oh, for…” Varric _tsk_ ed and strode into the rotunda. “What are you doing to the kid?”

Cole turned to face him with wide eyes. “Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant. But it didn’t work,” he said sadly.

“Oh!” Hawke said in surprise. She hurried over to Cole and peered at the plain silver crest that was pinned to his chest. “This is the Amulet of the Unbound, hmm? It looks so plain. I bet Bels was disappointed to loot such a boring-looking bauble.” She smiled at Varric and Fenris. 

“Do not be deceived by its humble appearance. Its true nature is quite powerful,” Solas said absently. He was peering at the amulet over Hawke’s shoulder and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, something is interfering with the enchantment.” 

Varric snorted. “Something like Cole not being a demon?” he said archly. 

Solas frowned at him, but Hawke replied. “Cole isn’t a demon,” she said. “He’s a spirit. The best spirit.” She hugged Cole’s arm encouragingly. 

Varric patted Cole’s elbow. “Yes, a spirit who is strangely like a person.” He shot Solas a pointed look. 

Cole pulled away from them and began pacing around the room. “ _I_ don’t matter. Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow!”

Hawke and Varric exchanged worried looks, and Fenris frowned. Cole had been quite calm in the past couple of weeks, and Cassandra had assured Fenris that his behaviour at Caer Oswin had been quite normal – or as normal as Cole ever was, given his constant cryptic comments and his tendency to appear unnoticed at inopportune times. But now it seemed that his agitation about being bound had returned in full force. 

Solas, as usual, was as calm as ever. “Focus on the amulet,” he said to Cole. “Tell me what you feel.”

Cole slowed down in his pacing, and Fenris watched apprehensively as his vacant blue gaze seemed to grow more vacant still. “Warm, soft blanket covering, but it... catches, tears. I’m the wrong shape, there’s something…” He pointed to the east. “There. That way.”

Hawke blinked. “There’s something in the stables that’s blocking the enchantment?”

“No,” Cole said. “Far. Farther. Hooking, hanging, holding on…”

 _Farther?_ Fenris thought. That didn’t exactly bode well. “How much farther?” he demanded. 

Cole shook his head slowly and didn’t answer, and Fenris scowled. If Cole couldn’t even say where the problem was, how was Solas supposed to fix it?

Varric patted Cole’s elbow. “All right, kid, find Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.”

Cole nodded. He twisted his fingers together and gave them a pleading look. “Will you come with me? All of you?”

Varric smiled. “Sure.”

Cole nodded eagerly, then started to stride out of the rotunda, but Hawke took hold of his arm before he could leave and pulled him into a hug. “You’re going to be fine,” she told Cole warmly. “Solas will fix it, all right?”

“All right,” Cole said, and he walked away. 

Varric, meanwhile, was facing Solas with his arms folded. “All right. I get it. You like spirits,” he said. “But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.”

Solas lifted his chin imperiously, but Hawke spoke before he could reply. “He already _is_ a person,” she said. “He’s just a spirit-person, that’s all.”

Solas gave a tiny approving nod, but Varric raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah. A spirit-person that magic spirit-saving amulets don’t work on,” he said pointedly. 

“And what alternative would you suggest?” Solas said archly. “That Cole remain vulnerable to perversion by mages such as the Venatori?”

Varric tucked his hands in his pockets. “All I’m saying is, maybe there’s a reason your amulet isn’t working. And maybe those Venatori demon-binding rituals wouldn’t work on him for the same reason.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t like Varric to engage debates about magic. He usually preferred to sit on the sidelines and make clever remarks. 

Hawke was also gazing at Varric in surprise. “You really think Cole would be all right if he was just… left alone?” 

“You’ve seen how he’s changed since he’s been here,” Varric reasoned. “He hardly ever does his little disappearing act anymore. He plays with Toby like a normal kid. He’s been spending a lot of time in the kitchens, and I think it’s because he wants to know what it’s like to eat.” He shrugged. “He wants to know what it’s like being a person. I think we should… let him.” 

Fenris studied Varric thoughtfully. What Varric was saying wasn’t untrue. Cole still said inappropriate things at inappropriate times, but he wasn’t phasing through the Fade as often as he used to, not unless they were in a fight.

Varric steadily met Solas’s stony stare. “I think Cole’s changed,” he said. “I don’t think he needs your amulet.”

Solas narrowed his eyes. “This is not some fanciful story, Child of the Stone. We cannot change our nature by _wishing_ ,” he said scathingly.

“You don’t think?” Varric said mildly.

Solas pursed his lips and looked away. His jaw was clenched, and Fenris waited to see what he would say, certain that the elven mage would come up with some sort of complicated and technical response. 

After a long, tense moment, however, Solas exhaled and faced Varric calmly. “However we deal with the problem, our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment,” he said. “Let us hope the Commander will help Cole to localize the source of the problem.” With that, he sat in his desk chair – rather pointedly, Fenris thought – and opened a thick tome.

Varric shot Solas an exasperated look. “Got it. Someone wants their quiet time,” he muttered. He looked up at Fenris and Hawke. “You guys want to play a little diamondback?”

Fenris nodded, but Hawke hesitated, and Fenris noticed that she was nervously nibbling her lower lip. Finally she nodded. “I’ll join you soon,” she said. “I just want to talk to Solas for a minute.”

Solas looked up in surprise, then gestured silently for Hawke to approach. Fenris and Varric shrugged at each other, then left the rotunda to return to Varric’s table by the fire. 

Varric sighed as he plopped into his chair, then pulled over a deck of cards and started shuffling them. “Damn Chuckles and his amulets. Kid just needs a second to be himself without someone telling him what he _needs_ to be.”

Fenris sat at the table and didn’t reply. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to think of all this. He certainly didn’t see Cole as being very much like a human, what with his unnerving ability to read everyone’s minds and his ability to slip across the threshold of the Fade at will. But he could see what Varric meant about Cole becoming more… human-like as time had gone on. 

But being human-like didn’t solve the issue of Cole being vulnerable to binding by malicious mages.

He shunted the problem aside for now. There was nothing they could do about it until Cole figured out where the so-called problem was coming from. Fenris could only hope it wasn’t too far out of their way. 

Varric dealt the cards, and they played a peaceful round of diamondback, which Varric won. Varric began shuffling the cards for another round, and Fenris leaned back in his chair and studied his friend thoughtfully. 

“Varric,” he said quietly, “why _did_ you never speak of Bianca before?”

Varric shot him a quick glance before returning his attention to the cards in his hands. “It was easier,” he said.

“It was easier not to speak of her?” Fenris asked. 

Varric nodded. “Yeah. Easier not to talk about it, easier not to think about it…” He lowered the cards to the table for a moment and gave Fenris a chiding look. “Come on, elf, I thought you’d be on my side with this. You barely talked about Hawke all the time we were in Kirkwall, even though we could all see the puppy–”

“There were no puppy eyes,” Fenris complained. 

Varric smirked at him and dealt the cards, and they played another hand in friendly silence. But while selecting and discarding his cards, Fenris wondered whether he ought to tell Varric about the book of angst- and love-ridden letters he’d written about Hawke during the years before they’d finally gotten together. Fenris suspected that Varric might already know something about the letters, given that Fenris had procured all of his ink and parchment from Varric, but they’d never explicitly spoken about it. 

And for the first time, it struck Fenris as odd that he and Varric had never spoken about it. Aside from Hawke, Varric was his closest friend. And yet he’d only rarely spoken about Hawke to Varric during the years before their reunion.

A few minutes later, Fenris sighed and threw down his cards. “ _Venhedis._ ”

Varric chuckled. “Another round? Third time’s the charm.”

Fenris snorted. “For you, or for me?”

Varric smiled mysteriously. “I guess we’ll find out. You in?”

Fenris waved carelessly at the table. Varric’s smile widened as he started to shuffle again, and Fenris watched the brisk movements of his hands for a moment before speaking. “Have you ever considered writing about it?” he asked. “Keeping a… a journal of sorts, like Hawke used to do?”

“Nah,” Varric said casually. “Can’t be bothered. Too busy writing other things. More interesting things.” He met Fenris’s eye as he started to deal again. “That’s one of my favourite things about writing. Stepping into a different world, hearing other people’s voices and thoughts instead of your own for a while…” 

Fenris folded his arms thoughtfully. “It is an escape.”

Varric smiled. “Yeah.”

Fenris returned his wry half-smile. But before Varric could finish dealing the hand, Hawke came over and plopped into the chair beside Fenris. 

She kicked off her flats and folded her legs. “Deal me in. I’m feeling lucky.”

Varric snorted. “At least one of you is. I’m slaughtering your husband here.”

Fenris huffed indignantly. “It can hardly be a slaughter if it has only been two rounds,” he muttered.

“Ah, the day’s still young,” Varric said easily. 

Hawke laughed and picked up her cards. They played a couple of turns, then Hawke sighed and put her cards down. 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “You’re throwing in so early? I thought you were feeling lucky.” Then he gave her a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?”

Fenris looked over at her; she looked anxious. “I’m worried about Cole,” she said. “I think…” She grimaced. “I think Solas should try again with the amulet once Cole has figured out what’s bothering him.”

Varric gave her a patient look. “The problem is that Cole’s not a spirit. That amulet’s not going to work.” He gestured for her to pick her cards up. “Come on, don’t throw in the towel just yet.”

Hawke picked her cards up, but she continued to gaze worriedly at Varric. “But if it’s just that he’s a… not completely a spirit, then why is he so focused on some strange thing over in that random direction?” She waved in a vague easterly direction. 

Fenris huffed and picked up another card from the deck. “Is there anyone in this castle who truly understands why Cole does what he does?”

Hawke pinched the underside of his arm. “Don’t play dumb, you handsome fool. I know you understand what he’s about.”

Fenris shrugged, and Hawke sat back in her chair. “Solas has never been wrong about spirits,” she said. “He knows more about magic than anyone I’ve ever met. More than my father, even, and he was the most well-learned mage I ever knew.” She glanced around the hall shiftily and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Dorian I said that, though. He likes being my number one bookworm.”

Fenris frowned. “So you recommend that we allow Solas to fix the amulet.”

“I don’t think there’s any other choice,” she said. “Without the amulet, anyone could bind Cole. And he’s going to keep worrying about it.”

Varric twisted his lips skeptically. “I dunno, Hawke. I just don’t think it’s going to work. I don’t think he’s a real spirit anymore.”

She smiled faintly at Varric. “I know, I know. He’s like your weird adopted ghost son. It’s very cute, Varric.”

Varric scoffed. “Now, I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

She snickered, then sighed and propped her elbows on the table. “I just… I really don’t want anyone to bind him. Imagine if someone made him into a demon and we had to… you know.” 

Fenris looked at her more seriously this time. _This_ was what she was really worried about: something disastrous befalling one of their companions. And in truth, it was something Fenris dreaded too. If Cole did become a true demon, and Fenris was forced to kill him — forced to take away a companion that Hawke cared about… 

Varric lowered his cards. “Come on, Hawke, it won’t come to that,” he said gently. “The kid’s gonna be all right. We’re going to sort this out.”

“Varric is right. We will fix the problem,” Fenris said. “Wait and see what Cullen’s search turns up before you start to worry.” He tapped Hawke’s cards, which were lying forgotten on the table once more. “Now let’s continue this hand. You may even win this round.”

She grinned at him and picked up her cards. “How would you know that? Were you peeking?”

Fenris smirked. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it is hardly peeking if you were holding them out so carelessly.”

She chuckled, and he relaxed as the return of her humour chased away the worry that was staining her face. “You sneak. Spying on my cards,” she said happily. “Do you have a proclivity for illicit peeping that I never knew about? Because I can work with that…” Her grin grew salacious, and she bit her lip and leaned toward Fenris in a provocative manner.

Varric groaned loudly at her shameless behaviour, and Fenris scoffed and tucked his cards protectively against his chest. “Stop,” he said. “Cheating is for the feeble-minded and the lazy.” 

Hawke cackled and sat back. “I’ll remember that the next time you cheat on my behalf.” 

Varric and Fenris chuckled, and Hawke grinned and kicked her bare feet up on Varric’s table, just as she had always done since they’d all known each other. They continued poking fun at each other as they played their game, and for a short time, Fenris was able to put aside his concerns about spirits and malfunctioning amulets and illicit lyrium mines, and to enjoy a moment of friendly peace.

***********************

As luck would have it, Cullen and Cole localized the problem to the Hinterlands, and specifically to Redcliffe Village. On the one hand, Fenris was relieved; they were already planning to travel to the Hinterlands to meet Bianca and deal with the red Templars at the thaig, so it was a relatively simple matter to tag on a trip to the village while they were already in the area. 

On the other hand, Fenris had never had a more trying journey with Cole. Cole spent the trip muttering to himself with increasing fervency the closer they got to Redcliffe Village. By the time they were half a day’s walk from the village itself, Cole was so agitated that even Solas’s calm advice, Varric and Hawke’s cheerful attempts at chit-chat, and Toby’s entertaining antics weren’t enough to divert his attention from… whatever it was that was pulling him toward the village. 

As soon as Fenris and his companions set foot in the village, Cole looked up sharply, almost like a bloodhound scenting a foe.

“You,” he hissed. Then he disappeared.

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” Fenris cursed. “Where–”

Toby barked in alarm, then took off at a run straight toward the monument of the Hero of Ferelden. Fenris and the rest of their party followed the mabari, and when they finally caught up with Toby and with Cole, Hawke grabbed Fenris’s arm in alarm: Cole had his dagger in hand, and he was looming over a terrified-looking middle-aged man. 

“Shit,” Hawke squeaked. “Who the fuck is that fellow?”

“Cole,” Fenris snapped, but Cole didn’t look up; he was too busy glaring at the middle-aged man with more ferocity than Fenris had ever seen in his seemingly-youthful face.

“You killed me!” he snarled at the terrified-looking man.

“Wh-what?” the man protested. “I don’t… I don’t even know you!”

Cole grasped the man’s hair and craned his head back. “You forgot,” he accused. “You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire and you forgot, and I died in the dark!”

The man’s face went pale. “The Spire?” he said faintly. 

Solas took a step forward. “Cole, stop,” he commanded.

Cole released the man, and he stumbled to his feet and ran away. Cole instantly made as though to follow him, but Varric hurried over and held out a hand. “Hey,” he said soothingly. “Just take it easy, kid.”

Cole pointed accusingly at the fleeing man. “He killed me. He _killed_ me!” he yelled. “That’s why the amulet doesn’t work. He killed me, and I have to kill him back!”

Fenris gaped at him in utter bemusement. He wasn’t sure whether to be more unnerved by Cole’s extremely uncharacteristic rage, or by the nonsensical words he was saying.

Hawke laughed nervously. “What in Andraste’s knickers are you talking about?”

Solas shook his head. “Cole, that man cannot have killed you,” he said in his usual calm tone. “You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body.”

Cole turned to face them. His eyes were huge and haunted, as though he’d just solved a terrible mystery. “A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank: a captured apostate.” He twisted his fingers together. “They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death.” His gaze travelled slowly across each of their faces. “I came through to help, and I couldn’t. So I… became him. Cole.”

“Fuck,” Hawke breathed.

Fenris stared at Cole in nonplussed silence. Toby whimpered and pressed himself against Cole’s leg, but Cole ignored him; he was clenching his fists compulsively, his vacant expression becoming angry again as he glanced in the direction that the terrified man had run. 

He turned to face Fenris and the others, and Fenris felt a little jolt in his belly: Cole’s pale blue eyes were hard and intense, almost incandescent with focus.

He gazed steadily at Fenris. “Let me kill him,” he said. His voice was eerily calm. “I need to… I _need_ to.”

Fenris swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said brusquely. He pointed at the monument to the Hero of Ferelden. “Sit there and don’t move.”

Cole stared at him for another tense moment, then turned away and wandered over to the plinth of the Warden monument. Hawke shot Fenris a worried look, then wandered over to Cole with Toby at her side. 

Toby rested his chin on Cole’s thigh, and Hawke sat beside him and slung an arm around his skinny shoulders. “Cole, did I ever tell you about the time Fenris and I found these haunted scrolls back on Sundermount? Honestly, if you’d been there, you probably could have talked the demons into calming down, but as it was – Maker’s balls, did we almost get our asses handed to us…”

Fenris watched them for a moment. Cole didn’t seem to really be listening to her, but he also didn’t seem as intent on murdering anyone anymore. 

Varric clicked his tongue ruefully. “If the real Cole was an apostate, that would mean that guy he attacked was a Templar.”

Solas nodded. “We cannot let Cole kill the man.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. It was a bit rich to hear that from Solas, given how badly he’d wanted to kill the mages who had bound his demon friend in the Exalted Plains. 

Varric smirked at the elven mage. “I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles.”

Solas lifted his chin slightly, and Fenris folded his arms. “So the real Cole, the apostate, was captured by Templars and taken to the Spire.”

“Yes,” Solas said quietly. He watched Cole and Hawke as he spoke. “As the young man starved to death in the dungeon, his pain caught the attention of a spirit of compassion.” He looked at Fenris. “An uncommon spirit, certainly, as I have told you before. And all too fragile when its efforts to help proved to be in vain.”

Fenris frowned. “So the apostate died. And this spirit of compassion just… became him?”

Solas tilted his head equivocally. “In a manner of speaking,” he said slowly. “The death of the real Cole wounded him. The inability to help, to assuage the captured mage’s pain… It perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows skeptically. Forgiving someone for killing him? That sounded like an awfully tall order.

Varric seemed to be of a similar mind. “Come on,” he scoffed. “You don’t just forgive someone killing you.”

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “ _You_ don’t,” he said. “A spirit can.”

Varric shook his head. “The kid’s angry. He just needs to work through it,” he said.

Solas frowned. “A spirit does not work through emotions. It embodies them.”

“But he isn’t a spirit,” Varric insisted. “He made himself human, and humans change. They get hurt, and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person.”

“You would alter the essence of what he is,” Solas snapped.

“He did that to himself when he left the Fade,” Varric said with a shrug. “I’m just helping him survive it.”

Solas pursed his lips and looked away, and Fenris frowned pensively at Cole. Hawke was still talking softly to him while he patted Toby’s head, and as Fenris watched, Cole shot her a very small smile. 

She smiled back at him and pinched his cheek, just like she used to do with Carver, and Fenris swallowed hard. _She can’t lose him,_ he thought. If something happened to Cole, and Fenris was at all responsible… 

He turned to Varric and Solas. “Cole needs to be immune to binding by mages,” he said. “That is all that matters.”

“He can’t be bound by mages,” Varric insisted. “He’s not a demon.”

“You cannot guarantee that he will not be bound,” Solas retorted. “I, however, can guarantee that the amulet will work if Cole forgives the Templar.”

“Come on, Chuckles, give the kid a chance,” Varric said in exasperation. “I know you love the Fade and all that, but Cole just wants to walk in this world as a human.”

Fenris rubbed his jaw for a moment. He understood where Varric was coming from; he too had grown more comfortable with Cole since he’d started acting less… spirit-y. 

But… but Varric was wrong. Cole hadn’t crossed the Veil because he wanted to be a human. He’d been pulled through by someone else’s pain, and if that lingering pain made him vulnerable to perversion by blood mages… 

Fenris shot Solas a hard look. “You are absolutely certain the amulet will work if Cole forgives the Templar?”

“Yes,” Solas said firmly. 

Fenris took a deep breath. He was loathe to go against Varric’s wishes, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t risk Cole being twisted into a demon. 

He nodded to Solas. “Make him forgive the Templar. Make that amulet work,” he said sternly. 

A small smile lifted Solas’s lips. He nodded his thanks to Fenris, then stepped away to approach Cole and Hawke. He gestured for Cole to rise, and Cole and Solas walked away together in the direction that the Templar had run. 

Beside Fenris, Varric sighed and shook his head. “Shit,” he muttered. He moved away to join Hawke, who was still sitting on the plinth of the Warden monument with Toby at her side. 

Fenris followed him, and Hawke looked up at them as they approached. “So Solas is going to fix the amulet?”

Varric sat beside her without speaking, and Fenris replied. “Yes,” he said. “He swore the amulet would work after this.”

Hawke perked up and clapped her hands. “Fantastic! That’s great.” 

Varric continued to sit beside her in silence, and Fenris’s gut jolted uncomfortably. He slowly sat on Varric’s other side. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. 

Varric shrugged sadly, and Hawke frowned. “Wait. Sorry for what?”

Varric sat back and looked at her. “Kid’s going to be more of a spirit after this. That’s how that amulet thing will work. Or so _he_ says.” He jerked his chin in Solas’s direction. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Oh. But… but he’ll be safe, though?”

Fenris nodded. “Solas guaranteed that the amulet will work. Cole will be immune to binding by enemy mages.”

“But that’s a good thing. Right?” Hawke said. She gazed at Varric worriedly. “We wanted him to be safe. Right?”

Varric shrugged again. “Sure. But… ah, I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his hair and looked at Fenris. “I’m not… mad,” he said slowly. “It’s just…” He trailed off and leaned back against the statue, and Fenris and Hawke exchanged a worried look as the silence stretched tensely between them. 

Hawke hooked her arm around Varric’s neck and shook him encouragingly. “Come on, Varric, tell us what’s on that brilliant mind of yours.” 

Varric sat silently for another long moment. Then he sighed loudly and shot her a frank look. “You ever feel like you’re just an observer along for the ride?” he said. “Just watching everything happening while it all just… rolls out in front of you?” 

Hawke raised her eyebrows in surprise and opened her mouth, but Varric chuckled before she could reply. “Ah, of course you don’t. Everything you do changes something. And you too, elf,” he added to Fenris. “You guys are the protagonists. You’re the heroes in the story.”

Hawke frowned worriedly. “But… but you’re the one who painted us that way,” she said slowly.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t just mean my books. I mean… I mean in everything. You show up, and things happen. You change things. People change around you.” He smiled faintly at her. “It does make for a good story, though.”

Hawke’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about? You change things, too. I’d probably still be working for Athenril if it wasn’t for you.”

He snorted. “Right. And look how well that turned out. We got trapped in the Deep Roads and almost died.”

Fenris frowned. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Sure, but I couldn’t stop it, either,” Varric insisted. “I couldn’t… and then my damned brother…” He trailed off and tugged one of his earrings, and Hawke and Fenris exchanged another worried look. The last time they’d seen Varric this agitated was when Bartrand had turned up in Kirkwall after years of absence. 

Hawke squeezed Varric’s arm. “Varric, listen–” 

“I’m an observer,” Varric said baldly. “That’s it. That’s the story of Varric Tethras: he watched things happening and did nothing to change it.” He gestured at her. “I wanted to keep _you_ guys out of this, and here you are, mixed up in the middle of it.” He ran a hand over his hair once more. “I wanted to help my brother, but he’ll probably be in that sanitarium forever. And now with Cole…” He gave them a wry little smile. “Well, you know what they say. If you can’t do, write. Or something like that.”

Hawke didn’t reply, and Fenris noticed with a pang that she looked close to tears. He gave Varric a frank look of his own. “You _did_ keep Hawke safe for years,” he said firmly. “You are hardly an impotent bystander.”

Varric shot him a tiny smirk. “Impotent, huh? You and Hawke need to spend less time together.”

Hawke let out a wobbly-sounding little laugh. “You filthy men,” she said. “I love it.” Then she hugged Varric’s arm again. “You’re not useless,” she insisted. “You’ve never just been a bystander. We’re all here fighting Corypheus together now, right? That’s not doing nothing.”

Varric shrugged again. Then he looked up and raised his eyebrows. “They’re back,” he said.

Fenris and Hawke looked up as well. Solas and Cole were approaching them, and Solas was smiling. 

He squeezed Cole’s shoulder. “I believe we are finished here.”

Hawke sighed in relief and smiled at Solas. Varric stood up and patted Cole’s elbow. “You all right, kid?” he said gently. 

Cole blinked down at him. His expression was more neutral and blank than ever. “Yes,” he said. “He’s free. We’re both free.” His eyes drifted vaguely over the village. “There is work, wounded to help, hurts to heal. But the weight is off. The old chains have fallen.”

Solas smiled more widely at him, but Varric was frowning. “So you’re not angry with the man who hurt you?” he asked. 

“No,” Cole said dreamily. “I helped him forget. His pain no longer pulls at me.”

Fenris looked at him sharply. “You made him forget?” he demanded. “I told you not to do that!”

Solas held out a placating hand. “Fenris, if I may–” 

Cole interrupted him. “He wanted to,” he said to Fenris. “He needed it, but he didn’t know how.” He blinked benignly at Fenris. “Yours are lost, but not forgotten. Lingering, lying low, layered with old pain, but not forgotten. You could remember, but you don’t. The loss doesn’t pull you anymore. You found peace.” 

Fenris stared at him. His heart was suddenly pounding. What did Cole mean by that? _You could remember, but you don’t?_

Cole, meanwhile, was looking over at the ex-Templar, who was chatting with a merchant and looking quite normal. “He needed peace,” Cole said. “He needed to forget. He is happier now.”

Toby whined and leaned against Cole’s leg, and Cole looked down at him with an idle sort of interest. “You help, too,” he said to Toby. “A bark of joy brings a smile out of sadness. You’re good.”

Toby tilted his head in confusion, and Varric scowled at Solas. “Listen to him,” he said reprovingly. “Listen to how he’s talking now. Do you know what he sounds like?”

Solas nodded once. “He sounds like a spirit,” he said simply.

Cole blinked at Varric. “Nonsense words, like Bartrand at the end. ‘Just need to hear the song again. Just for a minute.’ I’m all right, Varric.” He started drifting away toward the mouth of the village. 

Fenris and Hawke watched his ambling steps in nonplussed silence. Varric sighed and bowed his head. “He could have been a person,” he said softly. 

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “Possibly. Would that have made him happier, Child of the Stone?”

Varric shot him a dirty look, then walked away in Cole’s wake. Hawke folded her arms and frowned at Solas. “Solas, you know I adore you, but you can be such an ass.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head, then turned away and ran after Varric and Cole. Fenris frowned at Solas for a moment, then they began walking toward the village entrance with Toby trotting obediently at Fenris’s side.

After a moment of silence, Fenris spoke. “You are smug,” he said.

Solas pursed his lips and didn’t speak, and Fenris gave him a hard look. “Do not make me regret choosing your solution. Arrogance doesn’t suit you.”

Solas narrowed his eyes. “You would chastise me for possessing knowledge, then? Am I to be dressed down for knowing more than Varric about these matters?”

“No,” Fenris said quietly. “I would chastise you for flaunting that knowledge to bring shame to another. It is unbecoming.” 

Solas clenched his jaw, then returned his gaze to the path. They walked in a tense silence for a moment before Fenris spoke again. “The amulet is working properly, I assume?”

“Yes,” Solas said, rather stiffly. “Cole will be adequately protected.”

“Good,” Fenris said. They said nothing more until they’d caught up with Hawke, Varric, and Cole. 

Toby trotted over to Cole and licked his hand, and Cole gazed curiously at the mabari until Hawke joined them. 

“Look,” she said, and she scratched behind Toby’s ears. “Just pet him, Cole. You can pet him like you did before.”

Cole watched her for a moment, then reached out and scratched Toby’s head as well. “It makes him happy,” he said. 

She smiled. “Yes, it does.” 

Cole smiled vacantly. Solas moved forward to join them, and Fenris fell back to join Varric. 

They were largely silent as they made their way to the thaig entrance that Bianca had discovered, and Fenris listened idly as Solas and Hawke spoke to Cole. Solas began his usual cryptic conversations with Cole, and Hawke interjected with her usual irreverent remarks, and it wasn’t long before she was strolling between Cole and Solas, her arms linked companionably with theirs while Toby pranced around them. 

Fenris jerked his chin at her. “Look. Hawke is rectifying the situation,” he said to Varric. “Perhaps Cole won’t be too strange, after all.”

Varric gave him a wry smile but didn’t speak. Fenris raised one eyebrow. “Would you really have wanted him to become human?” he said dryly. “One could argue that there are already too many of them.” 

“I heard that,” Hawke called over her shoulder. “And you know what, that’s fair. We humans are pretty terrible. Cole is probably better off as a spirit.” She hugged Cole’s arm.

Varric chuckled, and Hawke winked at him and Fenris before turning around. When her attention was back on Solas and Cole, Varric sighed very quietly and tugged his earring.

He glanced up at Fenris, then smiled faintly and patted Fenris’s elbow. “Come on, elf, don’t worry about it. Let’s just go clean up these red lyrium miners and their mess, huh?”

His tone was as pleasant as usual. Fenris nodded, and they continued along the road to the thaig entrance in a more comfortable silence than before. But as they walked along in Hawke’s cheerful wake, Fenris pondered the similarities between Hawke and Varric – similarities that weren’t just restricted to their mutual love of wisecracks and literature.

He only hoped that this errand with Bianca would go smoothly. 

********************

Unfortunately, once they finally met with Bianca, things didn't go quite as smoothly as Fenris hoped. 

Granted, they achieved their goal for coming to the entrance to the thaig: they eliminated the dwarven mob that was mining the red lyrium, and they closed a darkspawn tunnel along the way. But when Bianca unlocked a secret chamber that led deeper into the thaig itself, Fenris began to get suspicious. When she hurried straight over to a tome-and-paper-covered desk at the back of the chamber, his suspicions deepened even further. 

“There you are!” she exclaimed. She picked up a key from the desk, then hurried over to a reinforced steel gate at the corner of the chamber and locked it. “They won’t be able to use this entrance again.”

Varric sighed heavily. “Bianca…” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her. “You were the leak. You revealed the location of this thaig to Corypheus?”

“Wait. Seriously?” Hawke said incredulously. “You’re an agent of Corytits?”

“What? No! It’s not like that,” Bianca protested. “When Varric told me the thaig location, I went and had a look for myself. And I found the red lyrium, and I… studied it.” She winced. 

“You…” Varric rubbed his face, then glared at her. “You know what it does to people!” 

“I was doing you a favour!” she retorted. “You want to help your brother, don’t you?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her bluntness, and Hawke’s mouth popped open in surprise. “Easy, tiger,” she warned.

Bianca pressed her lips together, then sighed. “I just... wanted to help. I wanted to figure it out.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. 

Varric, meanwhile, was still glaring at her. “That stuff can kill you, or worse,” he said angrily. “I told you what happened to Meredith. Why would you risk that happening to you?”

She lifted her gaze to his face. “For knowledge!” she said. “You’re not going to beat Corypheus with ignorance. And as it turns out, I found out that red lyrium…” She took a deep breath, and her face was bright with discovery and anxiety in equal measure. “It has the blight, Varric,” she said urgently. “Do you know what that means?”

“What?” he said snarkily. “That two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?”

“Lyrium is alive!” she said. “Or… or something like it. The Blight doesn’t infect minerals, only animals.”

For a split second, Fenris stopped breathing. Lyrium was alive? The hated substance that lay beneath his skin, the substance that Templars drank to cancel magic and that mages used to enhance it: it was… alive?

A shiver of revulsion ran down his spine, and he dropped his gaze to the lines on his palm. Hawke, meanwhile, was exclaiming in surprise. “You’re fucking kidding,” she blurted. “What do you mean, it’s alive? It is like, er… like a golem or something? Like living rocks…?” She trailed off. A moment later, she reached out and took Fenris’s hand.

He numbly looked up at her. Her expression was a picture of sympathy and concern, but Fenris shook his head subtly; if Bianca didn’t already know his tattoos were lyrium, he didn’t want to tell her. 

Hawke squeezed his hand as Bianca answered her poorly-formed question. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I couldn’t get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right?” The corners of her lips quirked wryly. 

Varric was still gazing stonily at her, and she grimaced before going on. “Well, I found this guy who seemed really interested in helping my research, so… I gave him a key.” She lamely waved the key in her hand, then cleared her throat. “His name was Larius.”

Hawke, Fenris, and Varric looked at her sharply. “Larius?” Varric demanded.

Hawke threw her hands up. “He’s still alive? Wha– how the fuck did he get here from the Vimmarks?” she said incredulously. “He looked like he was ready to crumble into a puddle of rot.”

“And he was not a mage when we met him in Corypheus’s prison,” Fenris reminded her urgently. 

“No, you’re right,” she said. She and Fenris stared at each other for a long moment, then she rubbed her forehead. “So… so let me get this straight. We thought we killed Corypheus, but we didn’t. And then Larius shows up as a mage–”

“Clearly possessing the vestiges of Corypheus’s essence, and his magic,” Fenris growled.

Hawke nodded. “–and he tricks Bianca here into giving up the key, and an entire thaig full of red lyrium.”

“It was no trick,” Fenris said. He scowled at Bianca. “You willingly gave him the key. You gave access to red lyrium to a stranger, even though you knew the dangers it posed.” He folded his arms. “Even if that was not malicious, it was careless.”

Hawke pulled a little face, and Bianca planted her hands on her hips. “I told you, I was trying to learn more about it,” she insisted. “Don’t you want to know where it came from? How it works, so we can undo the damage it’s done?”

Fenris scowled at her but didn’t answer. She wasn’t wrong; in fact, she was terribly right, given Fenris’s recent interest in figuring out more about the nature of lyrium and its seemingly contradictory properties. But it didn’t excuse her carelessness.

Bianca’s posture softened at his silence. “I didn’t realize who Larius was until Varric told me you’d found red lyrium at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I came here, and… well.” She turned to Varric. “Then I went to you,” she said gently. She took a step closer to him. “When you told me what Corypheus was doing with the red lyrium, I had to make this right.”

Varric didn’t reply. Fenris waved an angry hand at the reinforced gate she’d just locked. “You can’t make this right,” he snapped. “Corypheus has the red lyrium. He has been harvesting it from bodies, like some sort of cursed garden. The damage is done.”

“But at least he can’t get it from here anymore,” she insisted. She looked at Varric, and her expression was slightly pleading now. “I know I screwed up, but it’s as right as I can make it.”

“This isn’t one of your machines,” Varric suddenly burst out. He looked extremely angry now. “You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!”

She recoiled slightly, then straightened and glared at him. “No, but I can try, can’t I? Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself and telling stories of what I should’ve done?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her scathing tone, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Woah–!”

“Ha!” Varric burst out. “As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!”

Bianca scoffed and folded her arms. Hawke took a small step closer to Varric and lifted her chin. “Varric doesn’t _wallow_ ,” she said. “He’s the best wingman for people who are trying to fix their dumb mistakes. Which is obviously why you called him here,” she added pointedly. 

Bianca shot her a sharp look. “With all due respect, Champion, I think I know Varric a little better than you.” 

Hawke’s recoiled in offense, then took a step toward her. “Listen–”

Fenris grabbed her wrist. “Enough,” he said firmly. The last thing they needed was a pissing contest. He turned to Varric, who looked very downcast. “Do you have anything else to say to her?” He jerked his head at Bianca.

Varric sighed. “No. We’ve done all we can here.” He looked Bianca in the eye. “You’d better get home before someone misses you,” he said softly. 

Bianca’s haughty posture instantly softened. She took a step toward him. “Varric…”

He moved away from her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t… don’t worry about it.” He turned away from her and walked out of the room.

As soon as he was gone, Hawke turned to Bianca. “How could you say that to him?” she demanded. “Just stab him in the gut with a poisoned dagger while you’re at it, why don’t you?” 

Bianca folded her arms. “He’s your best friend. I get that,” she said. “But if you can’t see how he pushes his problems away instead of dealing with them, you don’t know him as well as you think.”

Fenris shifted his weight uncomfortably, but Hawke swelled with anger. “ _You_ made problems for him,” she snapped. “Giving the key to Corypheus – all right, fine, that was a legitimate mistake. But dragging him into this to cover for you was a shitty thing to do.”

Bianca glowered at her. “I wasn’t trying to–” She broke off and took a deep breath. “I didn’t want him to cover for me,” she said more calmly. “I wanted him to see that I… I’m trying to set things right. If I make a mistake, I want to be able to fix it.”

Her chin was lifted stubbornly, but her wistful gaze kept drifting toward the door to the chamber where Varric was standing with the others, and Fenris studied her in a pensive silence. He was well-versed in the terrible limbo of longing for someone impossible, and it was not hard to recognize the same plight in Varric’s erstwhile lover. Fenris, however, was lucky; he had eventually tackled the barricade of his own resistance to be with Hawke. 

But Varric and Bianca were not nearly as fortunate as he and Hawke. And Fenris suspected that the mistakes Bianca longed to fix the most were ones that had haunted her and Varric for over a decade.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Hawke scoffed. “So what? You’re trying to fix your mistakes, so that gives you the right to hit him where it hurts?”

Bianca narrowed her eyes. “You’re protective of him. But so am I,” she said fiercely. “And it doesn’t do him any good to let him hide behind his stories instead of facing all the things that have happened to him.” She gave Hawke an arch look. “If you really cared about him, you wouldn’t let him keep burying everything in his writing.”

Hawke let out a little laugh, and Fenris could clearly hear the snarl in it. Before she could say anything more, he took hold of her arm. “We should return to the others,” he said quietly.

She met his eye, then took a deep calming breath. “Fine,” she said. “You’re right, let’s get out of here. A darkspawn-ridden cave is not exactly my idea of a party.” She laughed again, more genuinely this time, then turned and made her way toward the chamber exit without looking at Bianca. 

Fenris nodded to Bianca. “It was interesting meeting you,” he said. 

She nodded in return. “Likewise,” she said. Then she lifted her chin once more. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs.”

Despite the tension of the situation, Fenris scoffed at the colourful threat. It was a good thing Hawke wasn’t here to hear it, or she would jump on Bianca in a heartbeat. 

“Noted,” Fenris said, and he turned away from her to rejoin the rest of his companions.

Varric smiled wanly at him as he exited Bianca’s chamber. “All right, elf, we ready to head back to the surface? I might wither if I don’t get a little sunshine soon.” 

Fenris smirked and began to lead the way along the narrow stone bridge to the stairs. “Unfortunate that it’s late evening, then,” he said. “We’ll be lucky to catch a sliver of daylight when we emerge from here.”

Hawke tutted and looked around at the enormous cavern. “I suppose it is evening already out there, isn’t it? Damn.”

“That’s all right,” Varric said affably. “A sliver of sunlight is better than nothing.” 

Fenris glanced at him. “You may not see any of it, given how short you are,” he said slyly.

Just as he’d hoped, Varric chuckled. “I’ll climb on your shoulders, then,” he said. “That should get me enough height to see the sun. If I crush you in the process, even better.”

Hawke laughed, and Fenris chuckled. They continued to make lighthearted chit-chat as they returned to the thaig’s entrance, and by the time they emerged beneath the waterfall that fed the Upper Lake, Fenris was pleased that Varric was smiling again. 

They made their way around the lake and down to the camp at the base of the hill, and Fenris murmured a greeting to the Inquisition guards that were manning the camp. A few minutes later, they were settled around a campfire heating some water for tea while Varric pulled rations out of his pack and passed them around. 

Hawke passed a packet of dried fruit to Cole. When Cole passed the fruit straight on to Solas, Varric shook his head sadly. “He used to sniff it,” he told Hawke and Fenris quietly. “I swear he was wondering what it tasted like. And now…” He sighed.

Another pang of guilt twisted in Fenris’s belly. He and Hawke exchanged a look, and Hawke shuffled closer to Varric. “D’you want to talk about it?” she said gently.

Varric shrugged. “Nah. He’s back to being a spirit now. There’s not really much to say.”

Hawke bumped him with her shoulder. “That’s not really what I meant.” 

“Yeah… I know.” He tugged his earlobe, and they fell silent for a moment as they started to eat. 

Varric munched slowly on a slice of dried apple, then swallowed and shook his head again. “I’m glad to have answers, but… shit. The second she showed up at Skyhold, I knew. I just…” He pursed his lips and stared at the fire for a moment. “I let this mess happen. I gave her the location of the thaig, and…” He sighed. “I’m not good at dealing with shit like this.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke said. 

He gave her a frank look. “Come on, Hawke. We all know that if Cassandra hadn’t dragged me here, I’d be in Kirkwall right now pretending none of this was happening.” 

She tutted. “Varric, do you really think any of us would be here if we didn’t have to be? Fenris and I wouldn’t have come if–” She broke off and winced, and Fenris awkwardly scratched his neck as the unspoken end of her sentence hung between them: she and Fenris wouldn’t have come to the Temple of Sacred Ashes if she hadn’t thought Varric was in trouble.

Varric gazed at her hopelessly. “There’s that too. Andraste’s ass, I _really_ didn’t want you guys to get pulled into this. But here you are, and I just… I let it happen.”

“Varric, that’s… that’s not your fault. That’s _my_ fault,” Hawke said. She shifted closer to him on the roughly-hewn wooden bench. “Fenris and I are here because of me. Fenris has this fucking magic mark on his hand because of me, not you.”

Fenris ran a hand through his hair. This was exactly what he’d feared – that this conversation would devolve into a downward spiral of Varric and Hawke blaming themselves for everything bad that had happened since the entire debacle with Corypheus had begun.

He took her hand. “Hawke–”

Varric interrupted him. “If I hadn’t sent you that letter, you guys would still be safe.”

Hawke gazed at him desperately. “But… Varric, you sent that letter to try and _keep_ us safe!”

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out,” Varric retorted. “Just about as well as anything else I’ve tried to do.” He sighed, then smiled wanly at Toby, who was resting his chin Varric’s thigh.

Fenris frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Varric was quiet for a while as he scratched Toby’s neck. “You know what I love about writing fiction?” he finally said. “Things happen the way they’re supposed to. You plot the story, and you plan what people say and do. And that’s what happens.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes the characters have a mind of their own. But things mostly stay on track.” He smiled at Hawke and Fenris. “There’s nothing more relaxing than writing the perfect death scene exactly the way you imagined it happening.”

His tone was flippant, but Fenris couldn’t help but think back to Bianca’s words: how she’d accused Varric of writing stories about things he should have done. Her phrasing may have been overly abrasive, but the way Varric was describing his writing was consistent with what Bianca had said. 

It seemed that Varric really did use his writing to gain a sense of agency when his life seemed to be spinning out of his grasp.

Fenris rested his elbows on his knees. “If only real life was that easy to control,” he said.

“Yeah,” Varric said quietly. He cleared his throat, then glanced across the fire at Solas and Cole, who were deep in a quiet discussion. “I think we’re way too sober to be having this conversation.”

“I can help with that,” Hawke said. She unclipped her flask of brandy from her belt.

Varric chuckled as she handed him the flask. “I can always count on you, Hawke.” He took a gulp and handed the flask back to her, and she took a sip in turn before offering it to Fenris.

Fenris took the flask with a nod, then tapped his fingers idly on the flask for a moment as he pondered Varric’s words. The feeling of lacking control, and using his writing to regain it… and then there was that comment Varric had made earlier today, about feeling like a bystander in his own life.

Fenris drank from the flask, then grimaced at the burn of liquor before offering it to Varric again. “You think your actions are inconsequential because they don’t end the way you had hoped,” he said to Varric. “You would equate unwanted outcomes with not having done anything at all?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said. “Shit, Fenris. That’s… really accurate, actually.” He eyed Fenris in an impressed sort of way, then shrugged and smirked. “And I mean, if nothing goes the way I plan, might as well just sit back and watch the show, right?”

Fenris eyed him thoughtfully. “You are no mere spectator, Varric. Perhaps the writing is… a trial run. A way to try and anticipate the possibilities when you eventually act.”

Varric listened carefully while Fenris spoke, but when Fenris fell silent, he smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Nothing wrong with a fantasy just being a fantasy, is there?” 

His tone was flippant and dismissive, and so very reminiscent of Hawke. Hawke, meanwhile, was looking sadder by the moment. 

She hugged Varric’s arm again. “Varric…”

He waved the flask dismissively. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Being an observer’s not so bad.” He took a sip from the flask, then smiled at her. “At least this way I get to watch you idiots and document everything you do instead.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Well, I’m full of idiotic ideas, so you’ll have a never-ending inventory of foolishness to write about.”

Fenris frowned at this, but Varric chuckled and patted her leg. A moment later, Hawke enfolded Varric in a tight hug. 

Varric wrapped one arm around her waist in turn, and they were all silent for a moment. Then Fenris broke the silence. “And what of Bianca? Will you see her again?”

Varric pulled away from Hawke’s embrace and shrugged. “I always do.”

His words were casual and neutral, and Fenris simply nodded. Hawke, on the other hand, straightened and stared at Varric in surprise. 

“Wha– really?” she blurted. “You’re still going to talk to her after–”

“Hawke,” Fenris said warningly. 

She winced. “I know, I know, I’m being a bitch. It’s just…” She gazed plaintively at Varric. “She was so mean to you.”

Varric shook his head. “You don’t know her, Hawke. It’s not…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “She means well. Even if it stings.”

Fenris studied him sympathetically. He could still remember the heavy ache of longing and regret he carried for the four-odd years after he and Hawke’s ill-fated first night together, and it wasn’t a pain he would qualify as a mere sting.

Hawke twisted her lips and toyed with her wedding ring. “Didn’t you ever want to… you know… move on?”

Varric raises an eyebrow. “Like how you moved on from the broody one here, you mean?” he said pointedly. 

Fenris shifted uncomfortably on the bench, and Hawke sighed. “All right, fine, fair enough.” She twisted her rings nervously for another moment, then cast Varric a cautious look. “But… Varric, she’s married. What are you, um. I mean, are you hoping…?”

She trailed off, and Varric sighed and didn’t reply. A long, awkward silence ensued as they passed Hawke’s flask among themselves again. 

Varric took a long swig of brandy and glanced at her. “You and Fenris are lucky, you know. Your whole thing is a pretty big plot twist.” He waved vaguely at her and Fenris. “You’re the only time I’ve seen a tragedy turn into a happy ending.”

“But I want you to be happy, too!” Hawke said plaintively. “It’s not fair. You deserve to be happy with someone too.” She clutched his arm. “Listen, there’s room for a third person in our relationship. And Fenris and I have a really big bed–”

“No,” Fenris said loudly, and Hawke and Varric burst out laughing.

Varric patted her hand. “Thanks for the offer, Hawke, but no thanks,” he chortled. “Besides, I’m not Fenris’s type.” He smirked at Fenris.

Fenris chuckled at the long-standing joke. “No, you aren’t.”

Hawke turned to Fenris with a smile. “Oh no? And what is your type, pray tell?”

“Dark-haired mages named Rynne Hawke, of course,” he said smoothly.

Hawke laughed brightly, and Varric groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go,” he complained.

Hawke kissed Fenris noisily on the cheek. “You smooth talker,” she said happily, then she turned to Varric. “And you, my most clever friend.” She kissed him on the cheek as well, then beamed at both of them in turn. “You know, it’s awful that this Coryfish bullshit is what brought us together, but I for one–”

“Ah,” Fenris drawled. “And the gushing begins.”

“Hide the liquor before she really gets going,” Varric advised him. 

Hawke laughed. “No! I mean it! Down with Corytits, but three cheers for the three of us being in the same fucking place again.” She rested her head companionably on Varric’s shoulder. “I love you, Varric. Just in case there was any doubt.”

He _tsk_ ed and rubbed his nose. “Love you too, Hawke,” he muttered. He patted her leg and turned away toward his travel pack. “Now come on, let’s play some cards.” 

Hawke smiled at him as he rifled around haphazardly in his bag, then turned to Fenris. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I love you, too.”

He smiled at her and gently pinched her waist. “I know,” he said softly. “I love you, as well.” 

She smiled and tipped her chin up, and Fenris laid a gentle kiss on her raspberry-red lips. Then Varric turned around with a deck of cards in hand. “Hey, Chuckles,” he called across the fire. “You in for a game of diamondback?”

Solas looked up in surprise. “I… yes, I would enjoy that,” he said politely. “Thank you.” 

Hawke clapped her hands. “Yes!” she chirped. “And we can teach Cole how to play.”

“Why?” Cole asked. 

“Because it’s fun, you goof,” she said cheerfully. She popped off of the bench and sat on the ground, then patted the grass beside her. 

Solas and Cole moved around the fire to join them, and Hawke smiled as Cole seated himself cross-legged beside her. “Now here’s the idea,” she said. “We each start with five cards…”

Toby flopped down beside Cole and wagged his tail, and Solas seated himself gracefully on the grass. Varric started shuffling the cards. “Want a drink?” he said to Solas. 

Solas shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I prefer to remain sharp for the purpose of this game.”

Varric nodded. “Good strategy. You can’t fleece me the way you did Blackwall.”

Solas shot him a tiny smile. “A sharper mind for a sharper opponent.” 

Varric chuckled. “Nice try. Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” He continued to shuffle the cards, then glanced at Fenris.

Fenris offered him the flask. “Another drink for yourself?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He paused his shuffling to take the flask, but instead of drinking right away, he gazed at Fenris. 

“Thanks, elf,” he said softly. 

Fenris nodded. “Whatever you need, my friend.” 

They smiled at each other for a moment longer. Varric took a swig from the flask before handing it back to Fenris, and without further ado, he began to deal the cards out with an expert speed.

Fenris watched contentedly as the cards landed in front of each player in a tidy pile. This journey had raised even more frightening uncertainties in his life: there was Cole’s unnerving comment about Fenris’s lost (or not-so-lost?) memories, and this new and extremely unpleasant discovery that lyrium was alive.

Even so, Fenris could count himself fortunate for the certainties he did have. No matter what new and terrible trials were thrown in his way, he had Hawke by his side, with her brilliant smile and her brilliant laugh to brighten the darkness of his path. 

And also by his side, whether literally or by letter, he had Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to talk Fenquisition with me! xoxo


	36. Demands of the Qun

Dorian took a deep breath. Then, with his nose wrinkled as though he was entering a filthy outhouse, he stepped out of the cabin. “All right, let’s get this over with,” he said.

Toby wagged his tail in encouragement, and Fenris rolled his eyes and pulled up his hood against the constant rain. “I’ll remind you that it was your idea to join us here,” he said pointedly as he led Dorian and the others out of the Hessarians’ compound.

Dorian glanced at the ever-present lush evergreens as though they had personally offended him. Then he gave Fenris a charming smile. “Fenris, Fenris. I was thinking of you. I knew how tragically sad you would be without my witty remarks to brighten your journey.”

Fenris grunted noncommittally, and Hawke slung one arm around Dorian’s neck. “Well, _I_ think it’s sweet that you came to support Bull on this mission,” she said.

Dorian scoffed loudly – too loudly. “My dear Hawke, that is _not_ why I came,” he said. “I came to crush those poor Venatori fools who give my country a bad name. And to support our fair Inquisitor, of course.” He shot Fenris another debonair smile. 

Fenris didn’t bother to look at him. “Sorry, Dorian, but you are not my type.”

“Hey,” Varric protested. “That’s our joke.”

Fenris smirked at him, and Hawke chuckled. “Boys, boys, no need to be jealous,” she said. She curled a possessive arm around Fenris’s waist. “Fenris is mine, so you can both back off.”

“ _Fasta vass,_ ” Fenris muttered. 

Varric and Dorian chuckled, and they continued on their way to the meeting point where Bull and his qunari contact would be waiting. During the short trek, Varric and Hawke chatted quietly about an upcoming plot twist in the next chapter of _Swords and Shields 2_ ; Dorian, meanwhile, seemed fascinated by Cole’s renewed spirit-isms.

“So that’s it, then?” he said to Cole. “No more curiosity about human things such as eating and drinking?”

Cole blinked at him. “Food and drinks are good. They do many things: filling, soothing, healing and hoping.”

Dorian shot Fenris a nonplussed look, then thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I suppose that’s something of an answer.”

“But sometimes they’re habits,” Cole went on. “Too much, too full, overflowing and flooding to hide the hurt. But the hiding is weak, like the wine in the tavern where your father’s men found you.”

Dorian wilted and carefully adjusted his own hood over his hair. “And we’re back to talking about me, I see.”

“You’re happier now,” Cole said mildly. “You don’t drink like that anymore. The hurt is still there, tangled with the love, but he helps.”

Dorian raised one eyebrow. “‘He’? Who do you mean?” 

_Ah,_ Fenris thought. He was fairly sure he knew who Cole meant, and he was also fairly sure Dorian didn’t really want Cole to say what he was likely to say next. But before Fenris could warn Cole not to speak, he was already answering Dorian’s question, and it was just as revealing as Fenris predicted it would be.

“‘Slowly, _kadan_. Take your time. There’s no need to hurry.’” Cole’s gaze drifted vaguely from the sky to the trees and back. “It was always a rush before, panic beating in your ears even while you wanted what you wanted, but you can be yourself now.”

Dorian sighed loudly and rubbed his face. “ _Venhedis fasta vass._ ”

“Cole, that’s enough,” Fenris ordered. “We’ve spoken about this. Do not talk about such intimate moments in public.”

“Don’t talk about them ever, more like,” Dorian muttered.

Cole ducked his head. For a moment, he looked like his old self. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said to Dorian.

Dorian sighed, then waved his hand. “It’s all right. You meant well.”

Fenris gave Cole a stern look. “Go speak with Hawke and Varric,” he said. He was still hoping that Varric and Hawke’s influence would help Cole act more normal, even if he was fully a spirit now. 

Cole nodded, then disappeared. Dorian shot Fenris a half-hearted smile. “Getting here must have been a highly enjoyable three days of travel. I don’t suppose I’m the only one whose dirty secrets were aired for everyone to enjoy.”

Fenris huffed. “It was an arduous three days, yes. He targeted each of us at one point or another.” Cole had been more vocal than usual in the wake of the amulet’s activation – so much so that he’d even made Hawke cry at one point. But she’d claimed it was a good kind of crying, so Fenris had reluctantly refrained from imposing major restrictions on Cole’s nosy behaviour, despite feeling more leery about Cole than before.

Solas approached Fenris and Dorian. “There is no need for concern,” he assured them. “Cole is simply adjusting. He was uncertain of his own motivations before. He is certain now, of himself and his purpose. He will readjust to his natural state in time, and the… commentary will likely even out.”

Dorian snorted delicately. “Sooner than later, I hope. I’m not particularly keen to have my every passing fancy spoken aloud for the rest of this trip.”

Solas nodded an acknowledgement, then fell back to join Cole and the others. When they were alone, Fenris glanced at Dorian. 

“‘Kadan’?” he said quietly.

Dorian _tsk_ ed. “Don’t you start. You’re worse than Cole.”

Fenris ignored this. “It must be serious now, if he is calling you an endearment.”

Dorian shot him a pointed look. “I don’t hear any endearments passing between you and Hawke. Does that mean you aren’t serious?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Fine. I won’t speak of it.”

They walked in silence for a while. Then Dorian sighed loudly. “All right, fine. I… I care for him, all right? He’s a brute and a lummox, and yet I care for him.”

Fenris frowned. “You are still worried about what people will think?”

Dorian rubbed his chin nervously. “I… no, I suppose not,” he said slowly. “I…”

Then Cole spoke from behind Fenris, causing Dorian to jump. “‘Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn't want me after?’”

Dorian scowled at Cole. Fenris simply shot Cole a reproving look before turning to Dorian again. “Is that what worries you? Being rejected?”

“ _Fasta vass,_ the pair of you,” Dorian complained. “You’re like sharks. Very poorly dressed sharks, I might add.” He gazed disdainfully at Fenris’s travelling clothes.

Again, Fenris ignored his deflection. “If this has been going on for weeks—”

“Eight weeks and four days,” Cole interjected dreamily.

“... then I doubt he is going to discard you now,” Fenris finished.

Dorian scoffed. “‘Discard’! Such a flattering word choice, thank you.”

His tone was humorous, but he was twisting one of his many silver rings around his finger. Fenris gave him a frank look. “Dorian. Would you prefer to wallow in uncertainty, or would you prefer to be happy?” He was being very blunt and he knew it, but it was terribly frustrating to watch Dorian dithering like this when his feelings were so clear. 

And now Fenris understood how Varric and Isabela must have felt while watching him and Hawke tip-toeing around each other for all those years in Kirkwall.

Dorian shot him a cautious look, and Fenris steadily returned his gaze. Then Dorian shrugged irritably and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’ll be happy when we survive this nonsensical encounter,” he said. He gave Fenris a slightly resentful look. “I still don’t know what possessed you to agree to an alliance with the qunari, of all people.”

“I didn’t agree to an alliance,” Fenris said. “I agreed to cooperate to destroy a red lyrium smuggling operation for our mutual benefit.”

Dorian lifted one eyebrow. “Does Bull know that?”

“Yes,” Fenris said impatiently. “I told him so as soon as he proposed it.”

Dorian looked at him in unguarded surprise. “And he was fine with it?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. 

“Hmm,” Dorian said noncommittally. 

Fenris pursed his lips, then sighed. “I am also surprised as well that they accepted my terms,” he admitted. “The qunari are hardly known for compromise.” 

Dorian snorted. “Well, that’s a grossly downplayed understatement if ever I’ve heard one.”

Fenris grimaced. A few minutes later, they caught sight of Bull’s tall horned head, well as the Chargers’ much shorter ones. As Fenris and the others drew nearer, he noted one stranger among the group: a young elven man with brown hair and sharp green eyes. 

“Boss! Glad you could make it,” Bull said cheerfully as they approached. He waved to the young elf. “This is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Given his youth and his race, Gatt must once have been a Tevinter slave. And if he and Bull had worked together, Gatt would have been on Seheron at the same time as Fenris. 

He nodded a cautious greeting. “ _Shanedan._ I am Fenris,” he said. 

Gatt raised his eyebrows at the Qunlat greeting, then lifted his chin slightly. “ _Shanedan_ , Inquisitor,” he said. “I’ve heard about you from Hissrad. He says you’re a former slave, not unlike myself.” 

Hawke sauntered over to Fenris’s side. “Another elven qunari!” she said brightly. “I don’t suppose you know an elven girl named Tallis, do you? About my height, my age, red hair, _very_ pretty…”

Gatt frowned. “That could be anyone. ‘Tallis’ isn’t a name, it’s a title.” He folded his arms. “And are you assuming that all elven qunari know each other?” 

Hawke’s eyes went wide, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Fuck. Andraste’s ass. _I’m_ an ass.” She grimaced apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not a complete idiot of a human. Well, not all the time, at least.”

Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation, then gestured to Hawke. “Gatt, this is my wife, Hawke–”

“Rynne Hawke,” Gatt interjected. He was studying Hawke with an appraising look that belied his young age. “I’ve heard of you as well, though not just from Hissrad’s reports. You’re known in Qunandar.”

Hawke looked at Fenris in alarm. “Shit. The price you pay for shattering a frozen Arishok, I suppose?”

Fenris grimaced and shrugged. On Fenris’s other side, Dorian folded his arms. “Hissrad? What is that?” he said archly. 

“It’s my title,” Bull said. “Because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as ‘keeper of illusions’, or–”

“Liar,” Gatt interrupted. “It means ‘liar’.”

Bull frowned. “Well, you don’t have to say it like that.”

Gatt gave him a tiny smirk, then turned to Fenris once more. “I’m glad you agreed to come. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.” 

Fenris opened his mouth to agree, but Dorian cut in before he could speak. “Yes. Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them,” he said loudly. “I’m certain life would be so much better for all of us under the Qun.” 

Bull gave Dorian a patient look. “Dorian…”

Gatt cut him off. “It was for me, after the qunari rescued me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight.” He folded his arms. “The Qun isn’t perfect, but it gave me a better life.”

“Yes, one free from all that pointless free will and independent thought,” Dorian said snidely. “Such an improvement.”

Hawke and Varric grimaced awkwardly, and Solas narrowed his eyes. Fenris gave Dorian an arch look. “You really wish to speak of free will in Tevinter to two former slaves?” he said flatly. 

Dorian frowned, then dropped his gaze and inspected his fingernails casually. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

Gatt unfolded his arms. “I’m not here to convert anyone. All I care about is stopping this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous.” He looked at Fenris. “If this new form of lyrium helps them seize power in Tevinter, the war with the Qunandar could get worse.”

Bull grunted in agreement. “With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks.”

A crawling sort of discomfort crept down the back of Fenris’s neck at this description, but he forced himself not to react as Bull kept talking. “We could lose Seheron and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

“The Ben-Hassrath agree,” Gatt said. “That’s why we’re here.” He folded his arms again and looked at Fenris. “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You know the Inquisition has destroyed various other red lyrium operations already,” he said. “If you had passed on your information through Bull as usual, we could have dealt with this on our own. Why did the qunari want to be involved?”

“You could have destroyed one shipment, sure,” Gatt said. “But the Venatori would have seen you coming. They would schedule a new shipment for later, and our spies might not know when or where. This is risky, yes, but it’s our best chance to destroy the shipping operation permanently.” He raised his eyebrows at Fenris. “Are you reconsidering, Inquisitor? This is what an alliance with the qunari requires.”

Fenris frowned. Didn’t Gatt know he didn’t want an alliance with the qunari? “You are aware–” 

Bull clapped Fenris on the shoulder. “I dunno,” he interrupted. “I’ve never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong.” He frowned. “If our scouts underestimated enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It’s risky.”

Gatt frowned up at him. “Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?”

Fenris looked at Bull as well. “Do you want to proceed?”

Bull’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded. “Sure, boss. It’s what we’re here for.” 

Gatt nodded in satisfaction. “My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore.” He turned and pointed to two short hills on opposite sides of the beach below. “There, and there. We’ll need to split up and hit both at once.”

Bull looked down at Fenris. “I’ll come with you, boss. Krem can lead the Chargers to the other spot.” He looked at Gatt. “I’ll talk strategy with my boys for a minute.”

Gatt nodded and wandered off to keep an eye on the Venatori’s movements. When he was out of earshot, Fenris frowned at Bull. “You didn’t tell him that I don’t plan to ally with the qunari.”

Bull scratched his chin. “I might have left that out of my report, yeah.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Oh shit. We’re tricking the qunari? The last time we tried that, someone important lost their head.” She frowned at Fenris and shifted closer to him. “No fucking way I’m letting that happen to you.”

“Hey now, it won’t come to that,” Bull said calmly. He gave Fenris a frank look. “You know the qunari don’t negotiate. It’s not our way. But we all want the same thing: to stop the red lyrium from getting to the Imperium.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt. “I’m just making sure we all get there smoothly.” 

Fenris folded his arms and gave Bull an appraising look. “You lied to the Ben-Hassrath to protect the Inquisition,” he said. 

“Not a lie. An omission,” Bull said patiently. 

Varric chuckled ruefully. “If we get out of this one alive, I’ll have to add that to my list of tricky loopholes to use when confronted by an angry qunari.”

Hawke, meanwhile, was grinning at Bull. “You tricky silver-tongued bastard,” she said gleefully. She poked Bull playfully in the arm. “I knew you had a soft spot for all of us.”

Bull shrugged casually, and Fenris continued to study him in silence. Finally Bull raised one eyebrow. “So. We getting on with this or not?” he asked. 

Fenris nodded, then gestured to the Chargers. “By all means. Debrief your men. We will wait here.”

Bull nodded. “Thanks, boss.” He walked away to join the Chargers.

Fenris pensively studied Bull and the Chargers for a moment. Once again, Bull was showing a striking disparity between his claims of qunari loyalty and his _vashoth_ -like actions. 

Dorian was also watching Bull with a small frown. “That was… unexpected,” he said. 

Fenris made a little noise of acknowledgement, but Varric shrugged. “Not that unexpected, really,” he said. “He’s always given the Inquisition a bit of a leg up in those meetings he has with Nightingale. Gives her just a little more information than she gives him, that kind of thing.”

Fenris looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Varric smirked and tapped his nose. “A clever dwarf never tells his secrets.”

Fenris huffed. “I will take that to mean you occasionally have tea with our spymaster.”

He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “What can I say? She likes my stories.”

Fenris and Dorian chuckled. Then Fenris looked around curiously. Where had Hawke gone? She’d been standing here a moment ago.

He frowned. Bull was there with the Chargers, and Solas was speaking with Cole off to the side while Toby pranced around them trying to get Cole’s attention–

Then he spotted her standing with Gatt. He released a little breath, then wandered over to join them. 

Gatt was explaining his reasons for adhering to the Qun. “... as a way of life, the simplicity – the fairness of it – is something I cherish. The lack of identity, though…” He shrugged. “I’ve struggled with myself.”

Hawke nodded. “Our friend Tallis said something similar. Right, Fenris?” she said as he sidled up to her. “She said it was hard following the Qun when you weren’t born into it.”

Gatt nodded. “When I first joined the Qun, I had a temper. Bull’s nickname for me comes from ‘gaatlok’, the explosive powder in qunari canons. I was so angry when I was first freed. I wanted revenge.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. That was a familiar feeling.

Gatt went on. “I wanted to find my family, still enslaved in Minrathous. I thought about leaving when the Qun didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, but I didn’t.”

“How come?” Hawke asked.

“The qunari were always ready to listen. To teach,” Gatt said. “They cared for me as much as one of their own. And if I leave, the parts of the Qun that I don’t like are never going to change.”

“The Qun will never change,” Fenris said. 

Gatt gave him a quizzical frown, and Fenris folded his arms. “The Qun is a moral system premised on the idea of a natural order that can’t be flouted. That idea is rooted throughout your entire society. You think such a thing can change?”

Gatt frowned, but he seemed more curious than angry. “What do you know about it?” he asked. “Hissrad said you were a slave, and you were on Seheron too. What happened to you?”

Fenris unfolded his arms. He was surprised Bull hadn’t told him. “I was almost killed defending my master,” he said. “I was taken in by the fog warriors. I fought by their side for a time.”

Gatt’s eyebrows shot up. “The fog warriors? _Veshadan._ That’s… they’re… a force to be reckoned with,” he said slowly.

Fenris nodded, not keen to get into the details.

Gatt eyed him cautiously, then lifted his chin. “Well, you’re not one of us. You don’t understand. You only know the parts you’ve heard from sneaking around and listening in.”

Fenris eyed him stonily. If Gatt wanted to assume Fenris only knew pieces of the Qun from spying with the fog warriors, that was his assumption. “And you only know the parts that are relevant to your position as a spy,” he replied. “No qunari is privy to every element of the Qun. ‘A tool knows only its purpose’, they say. Isn’t that so?”

Gatt narrowed his eyes. “You’d really look down on us for wanting something better than slavery?”

“I would never look down on a slave for wanting more than the hand life has dealt them,” he said. “But the Qun is not better, not truly. It is slavery of a different type.” He shrugged. “Mindless obedience is never justified, no matter the philosophy behind it.”

“Tell that to your soldiers,” Gatt said sagely. “I guarantee that every one of them has mindlessly followed an order during their time with your Inquisition.”

Fenris frowned but didn’t reply. Unfortunately, Gatt was probably not wrong. Despite the countless battles Fenris had been a part of, he had never been a soldier. He couldn’t fathom what that kind of servitude by choice was like. 

Hawke coughed delicately. “So, Gatt. You and Bull seem very friendly. You’ve known each other for a long time, I take it?”

“He led the group that freed me,” Gatt said, to Fenris’s surprise. “I was a magister’s slave, and when the magister went to Seheron, he brought me along. For company.”

Hawke winced at his implication. “Oh. Fuck.” She shot Fenris an uncomfortable look, and Fenris shrugged grimly. Danarius had not been unique in his enjoyment of that particular form of abuse.

Gatt nodded neutrally. “Iron Bull and his men attacked my master’s ship and killed him, as well as the soldiers. Bull set me free.”

“Wow,” Hawke said softly. She looked at Fenris. “He never talks about this stuff, hey? It’s always ‘this type of ale, that redhead in the kitchen, that big grim battle in Seheron’. He didn’t even tell us that he saved Krem’s life. Kremmy told us that himself.”

Gatt gave her a tiny smile. “That’s how he is, isn’t he?” He huffed. “Sure, Bull. Share the secret Ben-Hassarath reports, but keep that bit where you saved the elf boy to yourself.”

Fenris frowned. “You speak as though Bull hasn’t been passing on information about the Inquisition as well. That is how we’re all here, after all.”

“I’m not saying he hasn’t,” Gatt said. “But the Ben-Hassrath aren’t pleased with how forthcoming Bull has been with your lot.” He shrugged. “But he’s one of their best agents. They trust him enough to accept how he joined the Inquisition, even if they don’t like it. Besides, they hate to discard a tool that might still have some use left in it. That’s why I have a job.”

Hawke grimaced. “And it really doesn’t bother you to be seen as a tool?”

“Every qunari has a place and a purpose,” Gatt said seriously.

_That doesn’t answer Hawke’s question, though,_ Fenris thought. But there was no point arguing when a qunari’s mind was made. 

“Come,” he said to Hawke and Gatt. “We should move on.”

They gathered the others and made their way over to Bull, who was just finishing his debrief with the Chargers. “Get in close and take their enchanter down before he takes over the battlefield,” he was telling Krem and the others. 

Skinner chuckled. “He’ll be dead before he knows it,” she purred.

Bull nodded and idly scratched his ear. “Just… pay attention, all right?” he said. “The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad.”

“Yes, I know,” Krem drawled. “Thanks, Mother.”

Bull gave him a chiding look. “Qunari don’t have mothers, remember?”

Fenris gave Bull a quizzical glance. It was unusual for Bull not to respond to Krem’s sass with a clever comment of his own. 

Bull was eyeing the Chargers more sternly than usual, and Fenris was reminded of Bull’s concerns about the risks involved in this mission. Krem also seemed to notice Bull’s concern; he straightened up and nodded sharply. “We’ll be fine, Chief.” 

Bull nodded in return. “All right, Chargers. Horns up!”

“Horns up!” Krem and the others shouted. 

Bull finally smiled. “Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast,” he declared. “When this is over, drinks are on me.”

Krem grinned. “You’ve got it, Chief.” He turned to the rest of the mercenary troupe. “Chargers, double time. Let’s move!” With a quick salute to Fenris, Krem and the others jogged off toward the hill on the north side of the beach. 

Gatt gave Bull a knowing look. “You gave your Chargers the easier target.” 

“You think?” Bull said mildly.

Gatt raised his eyebrows even higher. “Lower and farther from the smugglers’ ship? It’s much less likely to be heavily defended.”

Bull elbowed him playfully. “Suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting, then. Just like old times.”

Gatt chuckled. He and Bull continued to joke together in the manner of old friends as they led the way toward the second area that Gatt had pointed out as a likely Venatori camp.

Solas and Dorian fell into some sort of magical discussion while Varric started telling Cole a story about their escapades back in Kirkwall, and Hawke linked her arm with Fenris’s. When they were lagging behind the others, she squeezed his arm gently. 

“You know Bull didn’t mean you, right?” she said quietly.

He gave her a quizzical look, and she pulled a little face. “With that… that comment he made. About the lyrium and the slaves.”

Fenris’s stomach lurched at the reminder. “Ah. The comment about magical freaks, you mean. How could I forget?” he said dryly.

Hawke squeezed his arm again. “Yes, that. You’re not a magical freak,” she said. 

He shook his head slightly. “On the contrary. I am exactly the sort of nightmarish magical freak the qunari dread the most.” He glanced at his lyrium-lined palms, the left one with its ever-present sickly green glow. “It is a wonder they are willing to treat with us. With me,” he corrected. “I would think they would sooner incapacitate me and sew my mouth shut than work together.”

“They can try. I won’t let them set foot anywhere near you,” she said belligerently.

Fenris gave her a small smile, and her expression softened into something even sadder than before. “You’re not a freak,” she insisted.

“Aren’t I, though?” he said. “I am the only person alive with these hated marks under his skin. A uniquely crafted weapon, if you will. And with the added curse of the anchor...”

Hawke pulled him to a stop. “You’re not a weapon, Fenris,” she said fiercely. “That’s what Danarius wanted you to be, but you’re more than that. You know that.” 

He ran a hand over his hood and sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “But—” 

“No,” she interrupted. “No buts. You’re perfect.”

He scoffed, and Hawke pinched his arm. “I mean it,” she insisted. “You’re perfect exactly the way you are, tattoos and all.” She ran her hand over his palm. “You know, sometimes I…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Ah, never mind.”

He curled his fingers over her hand. “Speak, Hawke. You don’t need to mince your words with me.”

She grimaced. “It’s going to sound so selfish.”

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

She licked her lips nervously, then looked him in the face. “I like your tattoos,” she said bluntly. “Not necessarily the tattoos themselves, although they do actually outline your muscles in a nice way and they make your skin look all lovely and tan—” 

He rolled his eyes, but Hawke took his hands and pressed on regardless. “I’m not happy that you got them, and I fucking hate that you suffered, but I… if you hadn’t gotten the tattoos, we would never have met. You’d probably still be in Tevinter. I mean, I don’t blame you if you wish everything had been different, but...” 

He squeezed her hands. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I have thought about this myself.” 

Her whiskey-coloured eyes were bright and hopeful. “You have?” she asked.

He nodded. “When I was forced to stand at Danarius’s side, I never expected the worst part of my life to set the course for finding the best. But that is what happened.” He took a step closer to her. “I would remove the lyrium marks if I had the choice, but… without them, I would never have ended up in Seheron. I would never have been able to fight my way across Thedas.” He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “We would never have met.” 

She leaned into him and curled her fists against his abdomen. “And wouldn’t that have been a tragedy?” she whispered. 

He smiled faintly at her. “It would. A tragedy worthy of Varric’s writing prowess, even.”

She beamed at him, and he gently kissed her lips before stepping away. “Come. We should join the others before they destroy these Venatori without us.”

The rest of the group was about twenty paces ahead, taking cover behind an outcropping of rock as they watched a small camp of Venatori up ahead. The Venatori seemed to be keeping a lookout over the beach, exactly as Gatt had predicted. 

Bull turned to Fenris as he and Hawke joined them. “There are only seven of them,” he said quietly to Fenris. “Probably best if we go in quietly, huh?”

Fenris nodded. “Stealth would be best. We don’t want them to alert the others. Varric, Cole and I will lead the attack. You and Gatt remain nearby in case we need your help.” He gestured for Cole to approach. “Stay hidden. Do not let them see you coming.” 

Cole nodded. “They won’t know until it’s done. It hurts less that way.” Then he turned to Gatt. “Heart hammering, brush of breath at the base of my neck. He licks his thumb before turning the page.” He gave Gatt a vacant little smile. “He never finished. You don't have a demon inside you. You don't have to wonder anymore.”

Gatt recoiled from him, and Bull clicked his tongue. “Cole, knock it off. People who follow the Qun get nervous around demons, remember?”

Gatt glared at Bull. “How can you work with a demon?” he demanded.

Bull patted Cole’s shoulder. “He’s all right.” He jerked his head at Fenris. “Come on, boss, are we ready?”

“Soon,” Fenris said. He looked at Dorian, Hawke and Solas. “Magical attacks will draw too much attention. Remain here and stick to barriers for now. I will signal if we need you.”

They nodded, and Fenris and the others fanned out around the camp. Soon, they were in position: Varric was poised near an elevated ridge of rock with Bianca in hand, and Fenris, Bull, Gatt, Cole and Toby were arranged around the camp. A moment later, a soldier at the periphery of the camp stiffened, then slumped lifelessly to the ground without a sound. 

_Cole,_ Fenris thought. A moment later, another man at the edge of the camp dropped dead with a crossbow bolt in his throat, perfectly aimed to hit right between his gorget and his chestplate. 

Five men were left, including the group’s mage. Fenris crept closer to the camp until he was poised behind the mage. He carefully activated his lyrium marks, then stood up and phased his fists through the mage’s throat. 

The mage jolted in shock, but couldn’t utter a sound: Fenris was squeezing his windpipe from within so he could neither breathe nor scream. Less than a dozen heartbeats later, the man was limp and dead, and Fenris silently lowered him to the ground before removing his incorporeal hand from the inside of the mage’s throat.

“Attack!” someone yelled. “Show yourselves!”

Fenris looked up. One of the three remaining Venatori was looking right at him.

The Venatori’s eyes widened. “The Inquis–” He broke off and shuddered. A second later, a curtain of blood began pouring down the front of his neck. 

He fell bonelessly to the ground, and Cole suddenly appeared just behind him. One of the remaining Venatori stumbled back in shock, but before he could utter a word, three bolts slammed into his chest. 

There was only one remaining Venatori. He tried to run, but Fenris phased in front of him and slid his glowing fist through the man’s ribcage. 

The man’s eyes widened in terror, then went blank as Fenris crushed his heart. Fenris dropped the dead body and looked up to find Cole standing in front of him. 

He blinked. “They’re second nature now, but not your nature. Killing to survive, killing the killers, but it’s not who you are. They’re not you.”

Fenris sighed heavily. Of course Cole had been listening in to his and Hawke’s conversation about his tattoos. “I know that,” he grunted. “But I am stuck with them, so I make the best of it.”

Cole nodded. Then Varric, Bull and Gatt joined them, and Bull patted Cole on the shoulder again. “See?” he said to Gatt. “He’s a squirrely one, but he plays nice.”

Gatt eyed Cole mistrustfully, then stepped close to the edge of the cliff and pointed. “There’s the smuggler ship. They’re getting ready to cast off. I’m going to signal the dreadnought.” He pulled an alchemical flare from his belt, then set it off. 

Hawke, Dorian, Solas and Toby jogged over to join them, and Bull pointed across the beach to the rise where the Chargers were positioned. “Chargers already sent their signal up. See ‘em down there?”

Gatt shot him a smirk. “I knew you gave them the easier job.”

Bull smiled and shrugged. Then, through the fog that wreathed the roiling waters of the Waking Sea, an enormous qunari dreadnought appeared. 

“There’s the dreadnought,” Bull announced. He tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

Hawke looked at Fenris and Varric with wide eyes. “So wait. _That’s_ what Isabela was fleeing from with that stupid Tome of Koslun?”

Fenris shook his head ruefully, and Varric chuckled. “Of course it was. Go big or go home, right?” 

“She’s lucky that storm hit and destroyed the dreadnought,” Bull said. “They would have sunk her ship for sure.”

Hawke playfully elbowed his hip. “Did you use that for pillow talk with her? I bet that went over real well.”

Bull smirked. Then they all looked up as the dreadnought sent a heavy load of projectiles at the smuggler ship. 

A huge bloom of fire engulfed the deck of the smugglers’ ship, and Bull chuckled. “Nice one.”

“Oh shit,” Varric said suddenly. 

Fenris looked up, then straightened in alarm: a force of more than a dozen Venatori were marching across the beach toward the low rise where the Chargers were positioned. 

“Fuck,” Hawke cursed. “They have four mages with them. Dalish can’t hold them off on her own.” 

“Crap,” Bull breathed.

Fenris looked up at him. His one remaining eye was wide with undisguised worry.

“Your men need to hold that position, Bull,” Gatt said firmly. 

Bull shot him a sharp look. “They do that, they’re dead.”

“We can help them!” Hawke said. She patted Bull’s arm urgently. “Come on, if we hurry–”

“We are out of range,” Solas told her. “By the time we get close enough, it will be too late.”

“Don’t do this, Hissrad,” Gatt said loudly. 

Fenris looked at them. Bull was running his thumb over his warhorn.

Gatt glared at him. “If you call a retreat, the Venatori will retake the smuggler ship and the dreadnought is dead,” he said. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the qunari. You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth! With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already!”

“They’re my men,” Bull snapped.

“I know,” Gatt said. “But you need to do what’s right. For this alliance, and for the Qun.”

The Venatori on the beach were swiftly coming within range of the Chargers. Bull’s knuckles were white around his warhorn. 

“Bull,” Fenris said.

Bull looked at him, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You know what to do,” he said.

“Don’t!” Gatt snapped. 

Fenris gave him a sharp look. “The Chargers don’t belong to the Qun. They’re Bull’s men. It is his choice.” He looked at Bull once more. “You know what to do.”

Bull took a long, deep breath. He brought the warhorn to his lips and blew. 

The retreat signal echoed through the fog and rain. A moment later, Hawke clapped her hands. “They’re falling back!” She crouched down and ruffled Toby’s neck. “They’re falling back, yes they are,” she crooned to the mabari. “You can go lick Skinner’s face and make her smile for the second time in her life!”

Gatt, meanwhile, was staring at Bull as though he’d never seen him before. “All these years, Hissrad,” he said in disbelief. “All these years, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For _them_?” He gestured angrily at Fenris.

Bull bowed his head and didn’t reply, but before anyone else could speak, Cole appeared at Bull’s side. “Raw and hot, trying to open it, but just darkness. How bad, how bad? No, done now, no sense worrying.” He blinked up at Bull. “The man they hurt coughs, shaking, but sits up. Eyes wide. No, not a man: a woman, clothes torn. ‘You're safe now. I'm Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?’"

“Yeah,” Bull said quietly. “Thanks, Cole.”

Gatt glared at Cole, then looked at Fenris. “I think it goes without saying that there will be no alliance between our peoples.”

Fenris nodded. “Understood.”

Gatt gave Bull one last resentful glance, then strode away. Varric rubbed his hands together. “So. I guess the rest of us should take out as many of those Venatori as we can, huh?”

“We should,” Hawke said with relish. She wiggled her eyebrows at Fenris. “Can we?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He gave her a warning look. “Prioritize your own defense. We will join you shortly.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “You know I love it when you’re bossy.” 

He gave her a chiding look. She cackled and punched Varric’s shoulder, then hooked her hand through Solas’s elbow. “Come on, boys, kill count competition! Varric, I’m going to beat you this time, I swear…” 

Fenris smirked as she dragged Solas away with Varric at her side. Then Dorian sidled up beside him and Bull. “Well, this has all been a waste of time,” he complained. “If I’d known there would be so little for me to do, I would have stayed nice and dry at home.”

Bull chuckled and pulled Dorian against his side. “Ah, come on. You couldn’t stay away, big guy.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose and tried – very ineffectively – to push Bull away. “ _Vishante kaffas._ Don’t you ever bathe?”

“You like it,” Bull said smugly. 

Cole appeared beside him and opened his mouth, but Dorian pointed at him. “Not a single word,” he snapped. He wrested himself out of Bull’s grip, then took Cole by the arm and frog-marched him away in the direction that Hawke and the others had gone. 

Fenris bit back a smirk, then glanced up at Bull. Bull’s smile was fading as he watched the dreadnought. The Venatori mages on the beach were gearing up to attack the qunari ship, and Fenris could see the growing mass of magic at their hands as they prepared their spells. 

Bull sighed. “No way they’ll get out of range. Won’t be long now.”

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. In the space of a few minutes, the dreadnought would explode. “We will destroy the Venatori, at least,” he said. “And that shipment of red lyrium will sink.”

Bull shot him a sideways glance. “You aren’t bothered about losing the lead on where the smugglers are getting their product?”

Fenris gave him a quizzical look, then remembered that Bull hadn’t seen been to the thaig in the Hinterlands with them. “We discovered the root source of the red lyrium. The illicit trade should be curtailed. Catching the smugglers will be a job for Leliana and Josephine’s contacts now.”

Bull wilted slightly. “Crap. All of this really was for nothing, then.”

Fenris turned to face him. “You didn’t know what we had discovered. If Cremisius and the others had died, _that_ would have been for nothing.”

Bull gave him a tiny smile. “Fond of my boys, are you?”

Fenris soberly returned his gaze. “You have guarded Hawke and Varric well during your time with the Inquisition,” he said seriously. “You should protect your own family as well.”

Bull eyed him silently for a moment, then looked at the dreadnought once more. The enormous ship was wreathed in flames, and more fireballs still were flying at it from the mages on the shore.

“Qunari don’t have families, you know,” he said. 

“I know,” Fenris replied.

Bull glanced at him once more. They gazed at each other silently for a moment, and Bull’s lips finally lifted in a smile. 

A moment later, the dreadnought exploded. But a volley of magical attacks and crossbow bolts were raining on the Venatori from the cover of the trees. A moment later, a cry of “Horns up!” rose from the treeline, and Krem and the Chargers burst out of the forest and bolted across the beach toward the bewildered Venatori.

Bull clapped Fenris on the shoulder, sending him stumbling forward a step. “Come on, boss,” he said. “Let’s go give my boys a hand.”

**************************

Later that night at the Blades of Hessarians’ compound, a victory party was in full swing. 

Miraculously, the rain had slowed down a faint mist rather than the usual downpour, so Krem and the rest of the Chargers had built a big bonfire. Bull had managed to procure a barrel of Chasind sack mead, which the Chargers had promptly tapped, and everyone was enjoying themselves immensely in the wake of the Venatori defeat. 

Bull and the Chargers were howling some sort of tavern song, and Hawke was laughing and trying to sing along while Varric played cards with Solas and Dorian. Fenris, meanwhile, was in one of the cabins finishing up his reports to Skyhold, as well as a letter to Isabela warning her to keep an eye out for red lyrium smugglers on the Eastern Seas. 

He sighed and flexed his cramped fingers, then sat back in his chair. “I know you’re there,” he said to the empty cabin. “Stop lurking.”

Cole appeared in a cross-legged position on the table. “You’re very tired. You’ll feel better if you eat,” he said. “I’ll bring you something.”

“I can fetch something myself,” Fenris said. He gestured impatiently at Cole. “Get off the table. You must remember to sit in chairs.” 

Cole clambered carefully off of the table, and Fenris eyed him for a moment before speaking. “I want you to stop listening in to my private conversations with Hawke,” he said.

“I don’t _try_ to listen,” Cole explained. “The listening happens. Feelings flying free like birds: hope and healing, but just a little hurt to hook me close.”

Fenris ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Cole never seemed to listen when people told him to stop picking apart their thoughts. If Fenris wanted Cole to stop spying on him and Hawke, he’d have to find a way to say it so Cole would understand. 

He rubbed his mouth for a moment, then looked at Cole once more. “When Hawke and I are talking alone, she… _she_ heals my hurts,” he said slowly. “She helps me more than you can. We don’t need your help.” 

Cole blinked. “Yes, Hawke helps,” he said. “Love lifting the pain, making it lighter and easier. But the fear is always there.”

Fenris frowned. “Fear?”

“You’re afraid she’ll die,” Cole said softly. “She’s afraid for you, too. She meant what she said: she would die for you. And so would you.” He folded his legs comfortably on the chair. “It’s all right. You don’t need to die. I can keep you safe.” 

Fenris stared at Cole for a moment. Then he swallowed hard and rose from his chair. “Stop listening to our private conversations,” he said brusquely, and he left the cabin. 

He stepped out into the mist and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. A moment later, Solas sidled up to him. 

“There is an elven artifact in a cave north of the river,” he said to Fenris. “I would like to inspect it.” 

Fenris nodded distractedly. “Do you, er, require an escort?”

“No, thank you,” Solas said. “I am fine on my own. I will set wards.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to stay overnight?”

Solas nodded. “The Veil in the area will be weak before I activate the artifact. I will slip through easily in my dreams.”

_Of course,_ Fenris thought. He shrugged indifferently. “All right. We’ll depart for Skyhold when you return in the morning.” 

Solas nodded his thanks. Then he folded his hands behind his back. “It seems the Iron Bull is our true ally now.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I suppose so, yes.”

Solas tilted his head. “You gave him the choice whether to call the retreat or not.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“And if he had chosen to sacrifice his men? What then?” Solas asked. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure where Solas was going with this. “He wasn’t going to sacrifice his men.”

“You were certain of that?” Solas asked.

“I have known qunari,” Fenris said irritably. “I have seen the commitment of the ones who truly follow the Qun. The Iron Bull has never been one of them, not since we have known him.”

Solas nodded slowly. “Did you ever consider joining the Qun?”

Fenris shot him a sharp look, but Solas’s expression was benign and curious. Fenris heaved a heavy sigh. “I considered it,” he admitted. “And I understand why many slaves are won over by it. The promise of equality is a temptation that many can’t resist. But it is a false promise,” he said firmly. “The Qun is a doctrine. A school of thought in every sense of the word. They are taught what to think, not _how_ to think.”

“Yes,” Solas said emphatically. “I agree completely.”

Fenris gave him an odd look. He wasn’t sure why Solas seemed so pleased by his answer. 

He shrugged and folded his arms. “My thoughts have been tampered with enough. I won’t have them policed as well.”

Solas’s smile widened. Then he took a step back. “In any case, I should be off. Thank you for the talk, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded in farewell and watched curiously as Solas pulled up his hood and left the compound. Then, at long last, he trudged over to the smaller fire where Hawke was sitting with Varric and Dorian.

“Our wise and unstylish leader joins us at last,” Dorian announced as Fenris sat between Hawke and Varric. “We saved this for you.” He handed Fenris a tin camping plate with a generous piece of roasted ram meat.

Fenris gratefully took the plate as he sat beside Hawke. “Thank you,” he said. “Is there any wine?”

Dorian chuckled and handed him an open bottle of red wine. “Do be careful, Fenris. Your Tevinter is showing.”

Fenris grunted and washed down a big bite of ram. Then Hawke draped her arms around his neck. “Remember that first time we met the Arishok and you just sprang it on us that you could speak Qunlat?” she asked.

Her speech was lazy with booze. Fenris smirked at her. “I do remember,” he said. “You offered to strip me with your teeth immediately after.”

Dorian snorted, and Hawke gasped. “I did not! I waited until we left the compound!”

“You didn’t,” Fenris drawled.

“You really didn’t,” Varric added. 

Hawke blinked at them. “Oh, no, I didn’t, did I? Oh dear.” She laughed and playfully fanned herself. “Well, what can I say? I can’t resist a man who’s got a talent for tongues.”

Varric groaned and pointedly turned away to face Dorian instead. Fenris chuckled and shook his head. “You are incorrigible,” he said quietly.

“Aw, thank you,” she simpered. Then she shuffled even closer to him. “So? Was it effective?”

He took another small bite of ram. “Was what effective?” he asked.

“My oh-so-clever line about wanting to strip you with my teeth,” she said. “Did it make you fall in love with me?”

Fenris swallowed his meat and gazed fondly at her cheeky smile. By the time that first visit to the Arishok had taken place, he and Hawke had known each other for three years or so, and his love for her had been swelling silently in his guarded heart for more than two of them. 

“I was already in love with you,” he told her. “You should be asking how that terrible line did not put me off.” He took another bite of roasted meat. 

Hawke didn’t reply, and Fenris glanced at her. She was beaming at him, and even with the burnished glow of the fire, he could see that her cheeks were turning pink.

He raised one eyebrow. “Why are you blushing?”

She laughed and patted her pinkened cheeks. “I don’t mean to! It’s just nice to hear.” She gave him a coy look. “I’m a sucker for your smooth talk.”

“Then I shall endeavour to continue such talk,” he replied.

She giggled, then kissed his cheek. “I was in love with you too by then,” she whispered. “Completely head over heels.” 

“I know you were,” he said softly. 

She grinned at him, and he smiled back at her. Then, for the umpteenth time that night, the Chargers raucously burst into song. 

_No one can beat the Chargers, 'cause we'll hit you where it hurts_   
_Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts!_   
_For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup_   
_No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!_

The Chargers finished their song, then burst into cheering and stamping their feet, and Hawke laughed and cheered along with them. On Varric’s other side, Dorian tutted. “Such uncouth behaviour,” he sniffed. 

“Yes, it is,” Fenris said. “You should go tell Bull how uncouth he is.”

Dorian cut him a suspicious look, and Fenris shrugged and sipped from the bottle of wine. Then Dorian rose from the bench. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll tell him exactly that.” He strode away. 

Fenris, Hawke and Varric watched as Dorian stopped beside Bull and planted his hands on his hips. A second later, Bull pulled Dorian down onto his lap and kissed him, and the Chargers started hollering and stamping and cheering once more. 

Hawke burst into laughter and hugged Fenris around the neck once more. “You’re such a fucking romantic,” she accused.

Fenris smirked and shrugged unconcernedly. “Romance is not only for dithering ladies in frilly dresses.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “You and the Seeker need to spend less time together.”

Hawke laughed brightly, and Fenris chuckled and took another bite of his dinner. The fire flickered and sparked in the damp night air, and Fenris ate his food and listened to Hawke and Varric’s banter and watched as Bull mercilessly teased Dorian and the Chargers.

A flicker of movement at the periphery of Fenris’s vision caught his attention. He lifted his head, but there was no one there.

_Cole,_ he thought irritably. _He had better not be making anyone forget anything._ But he decided to let it go for tonight. 

He settled back and turned his attention to Hawke and Varric. For tonight, Fenris would just enjoy some time with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a little break to catch up on actually playing the game (LOL) and transcribing the dialogue and all that, so updates might be slow for the rest of the month. But as always, I am here and working faithfully on this monster of a story, so please stick around! 
> 
> As always, you can find me on Tumblr as [your friendly neighbourhood Pikapeppa](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/). Benefaris, friends! xo


	37. Elfy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a little cameo of Piper Lavellan, my beloved friend Schoute's OC. She's come up briefly before in this fic, but if you want to read more about her, we've written a bunch about her [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1292186)

Hawke dragged her feet dramatically as she and Fenris made their way along the battlements to Cullen’s office. 

“I told you, you don’t need to come,” Fenris reminded her. “Go to bed. I will fill you in tomorrow.” Cullen and a small group of soldiers had just returned from Samson’s headquarters yesterday morning, and Cullen had personally tracked Fenris down requesting a meeting tonight to discuss what they had found. Since Fenris, Hawke and their companions had only just returned from the Storm Coast this afternoon, Fenris knew the matter must be urgent. Hence why he’d agreed to come to Cullen’s office so late. 

Naturally – and perhaps against Fenris’s better judgment – Hawke had volunteered to tag along. 

She sighed. “No no, I’ll come,” she said. “I won’t let you suffer Cullen’s report alone.”

“So I will suffer your complaints instead?” he drawled.

She gave him a wounded look. “I’m not complaining!”

He shot a pointed look at her noisily shuffling feet, and a cheeky grin crept over her face. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you don’t like the way I walk, then you can always–”

“I am not carrying you,” he said flatly. 

She laughed brightly, then skipped around in front of him and draped her arms around his neck. “Spoilsport,” she purred.

He smirked at her, then kissed her lightly on the lips before disentangling himself from her arms and ushering her along the battlements. “I am surprised you’re tired. It’s barely an hour past midnight.”

She tutted. “Being tired isn’t the point. If I’m doing anything other than lying in my bed at this hour, I want it to be something _fun_. Drinking or darts or gambling or gossip, take your pick. But not working.” She wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the word _working_. “What sort of madman enjoys working this late?”

Fenris shot her a knowing look. “This is Cullen we’re speaking of. It is hardly a matter of enjoyment. You know that.”

She sighed. “I know, I know. I’m just being cranky. But this report had better be good,” she added threateningly. “In fact, it had better be the most exciting report I’ve ever heard. If it’s not delivered as an epic three-part soliloquy, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

Fenris chuckled and pinched her waist. “You are an idiot.” 

She squeaked and twisted away from him. “Only for you, Fenris,” she giggled. “Only for you.” She hurried over to Cullen’s office door and gestured at it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous manner. 

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You should spend less time with Dorian. His flair for the dramatic is rubbing off on you.” He knocked on Cullen’s door. 

“Enter,” Cullen called out. 

Fenris pushed open the door and allowed Hawke to pass before stepping inside. Based on Cullen’s manner when he’d spoken to Fenris earlier today, Fenris was fairly sure the news was good. 

Even so, he didn’t expect to find Cullen smiling when he opened the door. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He’d never seen Cullen looking this pleased before. The news from Samson’s headquarters must be truly excellent. 

Hawke sauntered over to Cullen’s desk. “Ooh, someone’s in a lovely mood,” she crooned. She sat on the corner of his desk as she usually did. “You must really have struck gold in the information department at Samson’s headquarters.”

“He sure did,” a woman’s voice replied. 

A voice that was emanating from Cullen’s bedroom in the attic. 

Fenris and Hawke stared at the attic, then whipped around to look at Cullen. His face was flaming red. 

Fenris blinked, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Oh Maker,” she said in delight. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It certainly is!” the owner of the voice said. She slid jauntily down the ladder and shoved back her cloud of silver hair before giving Hawke a mocking bow. “Piper Lavellan at your service, m’lady.”

Hawke burst out laughing, and Piper joined her. Fenris, meanwhile, turned to Cullen in genuine surprise. “You and Piper are together?” he asked. He knew Piper had accompanied Cullen on the foray to track Samson down, but he hadn’t known they were romantically involved.

Cullen rubbed the back of his tomato-red neck. “Er, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive our, um, informality. With the lateness of the hour, I didn’t think…”

“He didn’t think to eject me from his bedroom,” Piper cheerfully put in. She took a seat on the other corner of Cullen’s desk, then reached out and tugged Cullen’s mantle affectionately. “Go on, Cullen, give your report.” 

“Yes, please do,” Hawke said. “This report just became far more interesting.” 

She was grinning wickedly at Cullen. Fenris sidled over to her and squeezed her arm warningly. “What did you find?” he said to Cullen.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, then rested his palms on the desk in a businesslike manner. “Samson was not at his headquarters, unfortunately. Maddox killed himself to facilitate Samson’s escape.”

Hawke’s grin melted into a look of sympathy. “Damn,” she lamented. “I was hoping we could have saved him. Minaeve would have made him feel right at home.”

Cullen bowed his head to her. “We brought his body back to be laid to rest. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.” He looked at Fenris once more. “The Shrine of Dumat was destroyed by fire, but not completely. We salvaged a few significant items, which Dagna is working with as we speak.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “What sort of items?”

“Strange equipment stained with traces of red lyrium,” Cullen said. “Likely of Maddox’s own design. If Maddox used the equipment to make Samson’s armour, then Dagna should be able to use the equipment to un-make it.”

“We found a note from Samson, too,” Piper said. “Right, Cullen?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was all nonsense, however.” He picked up a singed piece of parchment from his desk and regarded it with distaste. “‘Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry lied to us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general and his vessel of power’...” He shook his head in disgust and dropped the parchment back to his desk. “Does he think I’ll understand this nonsense? What does he know?”

His tone was snide. Piper reached out and ran a soothing hand over his forearm, and Fenris noted the immediate softening of Cullen’s expression. 

Cullen took a deep breath and looked at Fenris and Hawke once more. “In any case, the mission was a success. The red lyrium deposits at the shrine are being destroyed, and we’ve cut the red Templars down to the core. This leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army and enchanted armour he can’t maintain.”

Fenris nodded. “Excellent work. Both of you,” he added to Piper. 

She bowed playfully to him from her seat on the desk, and Cullen gave him a more serious half-bow. “Thank you, but my work is not done yet. We’re getting new recruits by the hour, and there are more than a few ex-Templars among them. They will need to be oriented to Skyhold and to commence training with the mages, and–”

“–and all of that can wait until tomorrow, after you get some sleep,” Piper said gently. 

He ducked his head bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, of course.”

Hawke shot Fenris a private little smile and slid off of Cullen’s desk. “Well, that’s fantastic. So I guess we’re just waiting for–”

The eastern door to Cullen’s office banged open, and Dagna rushed inside. “Commander, I finished– Inquisitor!” she exclaimed. Her excited smile widened further as she caught sight of Fenris. 

She thrust a rune at him. “Here, have this.”

He stared at the rune apprehensively. It glowed a livid, untrustworthy red. And yet, if Dagna was holding it in her bare hand… 

He gingerly took the rune, and Hawke sidled over to him and peered at it. “Ooh, now this is a shiny trinket.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dagna said happily. “I made it with red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to…” She trailed off at Cullen’s frown, then perked up again. “It will destroy Samson’s armour. He’ll be powerless.”

Hawke looked at Dagna with interest. “Wait, what were you saying about median fissures of lyrium? What does that mean?”

Dagna lit up. “Oh! Well, you see, lyrium and other minerals are mined from what we call veins, right? I’ve been thinking about it, and–”

“Thank you, Dagna, Hawke,” Cullen said. “Perhaps you can continue this discussion another time?”

Hawke pouted playfully at Cullen. “Oh, Commander. Too tired to listen, are you? Is someone lacking his beauty sleep? Your hair does look more dishevelled than usual.” She shot Piper a grin.

Piper grinned wickedly in turn, then turned to Cullen. “She’s right, you know. I think someone could stand to catch up on his sleep.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Hawke snickered, and Cullen’s cheeks and ears turned pink. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he muttered, and he abruptly turned to Fenris. “Maddox’s ploy effectively covered Samson’s retreat, but we will likely find him in the Arbour Wilds.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Your army stands ready, Fenris. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command.”

A jolt of apprehension tugged at Fenris’s belly. When he’d met with Leliana and Josephine this afternoon, Leliana had reported increasing movement of the enemy forces toward the edges of the Emerald Graves. It seemed that Corypheus and his army were on the move to the Arbour Wilds, exactly as Morrigan had predicted.

He looked down at the rune in his hands. All the pieces were falling into place for an organized assault on the Arbour Wilds. Corypheus’s army had lost their sources of red lyrium, Samson had lost his loyal Tranquil, and this rune would destroy his precious armour. The Inquisition’s army were refreshed and restored, having spent the last couple of months training and recuperating since the attack on Adamant Fortress.

There were no reasons that they shouldn’t assemble their forces for the next battle.

Fenris took a fortifying breath, then looked at Cullen once more. “We should prepare to march on the Arbour Wilds, then,” he said. 

Piper and Hawke sobered, and Cullen’s face creased into a stern frown. “I agree,” he said. “Let’s meet at the war table in the morning. I will advise Leliana and Josephine.”

“And Morrigan,” Hawke put in. “She’s the one who knows all about this eluvian that Corypheus is chasing.” 

“Thank you, Hawke, that’s true,” Cullen said with a nod. He stepped away from his desk. “Well, I suppose anything else can wait until the morning, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. He met Hawke’s eyes and tilted his head at the door. 

She nodded, then smiled at Dagna. “Can we pick this up tomorrow, perhaps?” 

“Of course,” Dagna chirped. “You know where to find me.” She waved a cheerful goodnight to everyone else, then hurried away. 

Hawke pecked Piper on the cheek. “We need to catch up, too,” she said. “Drinks tomorrow?” 

“Absolutely,” Piper said in a meaningful tone. The two women snickered dirtily, prompting Cullen’s cheeks to redden once more. 

Hawke smiled at Cullen. “Goodnight, Cullen. And congratulations, by the way. On your impeccable desk, I mean,” she added with a cheeky smile. “It’s tidy for once!”

Cullen’s face and neck turned beetroot-red, and Piper’s smile grew more cheeky than ever. Fenris took Hawke’s hand and pulled her toward him. “Goodnight,” he said to Cullen and Piper. 

“Er, yes. Goodnight,” Cullen stammered, and Piper gave him a jaunty salute. 

Fenris led Hawke back out onto the battlements. Once Piper had closed the office door behind them, Hawke let out a bright laugh. “Maker’s balls, I’m so proud of her,” she crowed. “She absolutely had sex with Cullen on that desk.”

Fenris gave her a distracted smile, and her grin faded. She squeezed his hand. “Hey, you. What’s the matter?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Another grand battle,” he said ruefully. “It feels as though the last was not so long ago.” 

Hawke smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re tired of killing people. It’s practically our number-one responsibility.”

He looked at her frankly. “I am tired of the constant danger,” he said. But this wasn’t the entire truth. What truly wore him down was the constant danger to Hawke. One would think that ten years’ worth of scraps and skirmishes would render him immune to seeing her in harm’s way. But his fear for her safety had only seemed to heighten with time, and particularly since joining the Inquisition. 

He didn’t say this, though. Hawke already knew it, and he knew she felt the same way about him, to his dismay. It wouldn’t help either of them to remind her of the fragility of their lives. 

“It’s different this time,” Hawke assured him. “Corytits is on the defensive, not us. He doesn’t have a big fancy fortress this time. We took away his poor Wardens and his Templars and his red lyrium.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Honestly, Fenris, it’s going to be a cakewalk when we get to the Arbour Wilds.”

 _But something unexpected could happen,_ he thought. With his and Hawke’s luck, it was almost a certainty that some problem they’d not accounted for would arise. And the last time something unexpected had happened, Hawke had lost her brother. 

He was silent as they walked along the battlements. Then Hawke stepped in front of him. 

She rested her palms on his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening in that gorgeous head of yours.” 

He shook his head slightly. “It is nothing you haven’t heard before.” 

“Then tell me again,” she said. “I never get tired of hearing that lovely growly voice of yours.” 

He smiled faintly at her, then leaned his elbows on the parapet. “It’s just… the planning and strategizing. It makes it feel all the more like walking into a mortal trap.” 

She grimaced. “Well, at least we’re doing it together.”

“I would rather we were not doing it at all,” he said. Then he pressed his lips together and looked away. Truly, she didn’t need to hear these complaints again; he should be trying to reassure her, not bring her down into his anxious morass.

He stared blankly down at Skyhold’s garden. Then Hawke’s arms slid around him from behind. 

She pressed her cheek to his spine. “Hey. It’s going to be all right,” she murmured.

He took a deep breath. Did she really believe that, after what had happened to Carver at Adamant Fortress? Even with all the Inquisition’s advantages and all the planning and strategizing and strength, a single bad decision could set everything awry. One single poor choice could have disastrous consequences, and they wouldn’t know until it was too late. 

Her arms tightened around his waist, and he loosened his clenched jaw. “You’re right,” he finally said. “There’s no point worrying. Not for some time, at least.” 

“Exactly,” she said softly. “ _Na via lerno victoria._ ”

 _Only the living know victory._ He huffed in amusement, then turned in her embrace and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “And so we will,” he murmured, and he pressed his lips to her chestnut hair. 

But that night as they lay in bed, Fenris couldn’t quite get to sleep. 

And from the shallow cadence of Hawke’s breathing, he didn’t think she could, either.

********************

Two days later, Fenris and Hawke set out to the Emerald Graves with their companions in tow. It would take two weeks for the full strength of the Inquisition’s army and allies to make it to the Arbour Wilds; in the meantime, Fenris and the others were joining Leliana’s scouts and spies in the task of slowing Corypheus’s army down and clearing the way for the Inquisition’s forces. 

They split into groups on arriving, with Solas and Sera joining Fenris and Hawke as they headed for the nearest rift. Within hours of their arrival, the ethereal and oddly haunted-feeling forest provided more than enough distractions to drive Fenris’s mortality-related ruminations out of his mind. 

Sera shuddered as they stepped out of Chateau d’Onterre, then spun on Fenris and poked him in the chest. “Never. Again,” she said threateningly. “Don’t like spooks, all right? It’s too weird. All that stuff’s just wrong.”

Hawke slung an arm around her shoulders. “Oh come on, Sera, you don’t enjoy a good haunted house to liven things up?” 

“No!” Sera exclaimed. “I like my dead things dead, all right? When you put someone down, they should stay down.”

Fenris huffed as he led them through the ornate courtyard and back to the forest. “That is a fair point.” 

“I know it is. I’ve got lots of them,” Sera said. She marched alongside Fenris and started counting on her fingers. “Dead things stay dead. No magic weird stuff–”

“Ouch. My feelings,” Hawke said in a mock-hurt tone.

“–aside from your pretty bird,” she added with a quick grin at Hawke. “And no demons. Seems simple, right? _Wrong._ ” She turned around and scowled at Solas, who was walking alongside Hawke. “We come here, with all these stupid trees and all the stupid leaves, and suddenly it’s ‘demons! Magic! Ghosts in your face!’”

“May I ask why you feel the peculiar qualities of this location are my responsibility?” Solas said in a long-suffering tone.

Sera glared at him. “Elfy, that’s what.”

Solas sighed. “Much as you may wish to deny it, you and I are not so far apart as you think.”

Sera blew a raspberry. “ _Pthhb_. Tell it to spiky here.” She elbowed Fenris and gave him a knowing look. “ _You_ know. Don’t need that old ancient elfy stuff from a thousand years ago. Here’s what we’ve got, yeh?” She looked around at the surrounding trees in disdain. “Well, maybe not _here_. But this, now. Right?” She widened her eyes at him expectantly.

Fenris shrugged. “I’ve never placed much value in the tales of ancient elves, no. They have little bearing on how poorly our people are treated now, either in Tevinter or here in the south.” 

Sera wilted. “Ah, now _you’re_ going on about ‘our people’? Look, people are just people. Pointy ears don’t matter in it. Right, Hawke?”

Hawke grimaced. “You know, as the only human in this lovely little group, I don’t feel like I can really, er, participate in this discussion.” 

Solas gave her a chiding look. “And yet you are the only one among our company who has been asking about the elvhen legends that are rooted here.” 

Fenris frowned at Solas’s implication. Just because he hadn’t been asking the questions didn’t mean he wasn’t listening to the answers. Information was still information, even if it wasn’t particularly relevant. 

Hawke chuckled and linked her arm with Solas’s. “Oh, Solas. You know how much I love hearing a good story from you.”

Sera snorted loudly. “Stories. Wind out your ass, more like.” 

Solas pursed his lips, then raised his eyes to the lush treeline. “The passing of time twists history into story and story into myth. Under such circumstances, it can be difficult to discern tales from the truth.” He looked at Sera once more. “It makes all stories worth hearing, whether or not some wish to listen.” 

Sera shrugged, then hopped onto a nearby fallen log and tiptoed gracefully along its length. “Or maybe, what about this: we find some baddies, kick their butts, and have something to eat. You know, _living_ stuff,” she said pointedly to Solas. “Stuff people do. Not like your dreamy-walking thing.” She hopped off the log and directly into a nearby mudpuddle. 

“Ah yes, dreamwalking,” Solas said calmly. “Would you care to learn the craft?”

Sera whipped around and stared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He shrugged easily. “It would give you the chance to explore the Fade. I could introduce you to spirits.”

Sera’s face twisted in disgust. “Spirits like Creepy? You're messing with me on purpose!”

“Why would I do that?” Solas said. “It is not as though I know who filled my bedroll with lizards.”

Sera’s horrified face instantly transformed into a grin, and she broke out laughing. “Never gonna forget that one, are you? That was pretty good!”

Hawke coughed out a laugh, then shrugged when Solas gave her an arch look. “What?” she said innocently. “The look on your face was rather priceless. It’s a prank I would definitely have pulled when I was clever and young.”

Fenris glanced at her reprovingly. “You are not old, Hawke.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’re sweet. But my imagination for pranks is getting old. That’s why I need Sera on my side.” She gestured for Sera to come near, then released Solas’s arm to link up with the gamine archer instead. “Now listen, while it’s just the four of us, I think you and I need to come up with something _really_ clever…”

She and Sera pulled ahead while whispering together in a suspicious manner. Fenris wryly shook his head, and he and Solas walked side-by-side quietly for some time. 

Eventually Solas spoke quietly into the leaf-scented air. “In all my travels, I have never met an elf quite like Sera before.”

“I wasn’t aware there were so many elves meandering through the Fade,” Fenris said blithely.

Solas shot him a frank look. “You jest, but yes. There are. Memories of countless elvhen lives are impressed upon the world that you walk – that _we_ walk. They melt through the Veil every night, laid bare for the discovery of those who seek them.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. He wasn’t particularly keen to hear how wonderful the Fade was, not after what had happened there at Adamant Fortress.

Thankfully – or perhaps not – Solas changed the subject. “Fenris, you too were raised in a city, and in circumstances even more disempowering than the alienages of the south.”

Fenris grunted. “And your point is?”

“Do you ever wish you were anything other than you are?” 

Fenris glanced at Sera, then at Solas. “You mean, do I wish I were a human and not an elf.”

Solas tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Unless you wished you were something else entirely.”

Fenris raised one quizzical eyebrow. That was an odd thing to say. Then he shrugged and returned his gaze to the path ahead, and to Hawke’s slender back. “No,” he said. “I never wanted to be human. I am who I am.” 

“You never wished that you were different from what you are?” Solas asked.

Fenris frowned at him. “If you’re asking if I wish to be like the ancient elves of old, then no,” he said bluntly. “That is an empty wish. A wish premised on no proof. There is no point seeking to recreate times long past. Especially since we can’t confirm what those times were like.” 

“That is not what precisely what I meant,” Solas said. “But it is informative all the same.”

 _Informative?_ Fenris thought. What he’d said was hardly informative. It was just his opinion. But if Solas really wanted his opinion, he supposed he could share it. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment.

“I am satisfied with being a ‘city elf’, as they call it,” he said. “I don’t wish to be other than what I am. There is something… hardening about being the underdog.” 

Solas looked at him. “Do you mean ‘heartening’?”

“That as well,” Fenris said. 

The corners of Solas’s mouth curved in a small smile. Fenris shrugged. ”When I first escaped Danarius, I didn’t wish _I_ was different. I wished everything else was different.”

Solas’s smile broadened slightly and he nodded in understanding, but Fenris frowned in thought. Now that Solas had him thinking about this, it was strange to compare his thoughts in the past to the way he felt about this topic now. 

“Despite that, I… I _am_ different than I was before,” he said slowly. “When I was first freed, I was… enraged. The change I desired was little more than a Tevinter landscape rendered in blood.”

Solas’s expression grew somber. “You can hardly be blamed. No great change has ever been wrought without the spilling of blood.”

“I am well aware,” Fenris said flatly. “But…” He paused pensively before speaking again. “I no longer thirst for the blood of my enemies. The snuffing of lives is a necessary cost, but… it’s one I no longer relish.” He glanced at Solas. “That was not always the case.” 

Solas bowed his head briefly. “You are wise beyond your years, then.” 

Fenris raised a wry eyebrow. “And you are not?”

Solas smiled. “Ah. No. You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

Without quite meaning to, Fenris let out a small laugh. “I can't imagine.” 

Solas’s smile grew. “I would ask you not to try. It was a very different time.”

Fenris smirked at him, and they both chuckled. They walked together in an unusually comfortable silence for a time before Fenris spoke again. “And you?” he asked. “You have the bearing of a man who knows himself. Have you ever wished you were someone else?”

Solas smiled, but it was one of his oddly melancholy smiles, like he wore the weary sadness of a much older man on his face. He sighed and gazed up at the sun-speckled canopy. “Sometimes you find you are forced to change. To become other than what you were, whether or not you wish to.”

Fenris frowned. “You were forced to be someone else?” he asked. 

“I was thinking of my spirit friend,” Solas explained. “The one you and Hawke took mercy on. There must be a strangeness to that: to being forced to act against your very nature…” He trailed off, and his gaze fell to Fenris’s tattooed and flickering left palm.

His expression softened. “I apologize, Fenris. That was thoughtless of me. This is not a pain that is foreign to you.”

Fenris closed his fist and looked away. Solas was right about that. In many ways, Fenris’s life was a sequence of changes forced upon him against his will. First he was a mage forced to become a lyrium-lined and mindless weapon. Then he was a weapon forced to turn against those who healed and sheltered him. Now he was an introverted man who wanted to be left in peace, forced to become the famous – or infamous, depending on your perspective – leader of an enormous semi-political and paramilitary force. 

He shrugged and tried to pretend he wasn’t bitter. “Such changes are rarely chosen so much as forced,” he said. “And yet…” His eyes fell once more on Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips, and he remembered the conversation they’d had on the Storm Coast: the conversation where he’d told her, truthfully, that he wouldn’t trade an unmarked past if it meant never having met her. 

He looked frankly at Solas. “I would not undo what I’ve suffered. Without those fickle twists of fate, I would not have the things I cherish now.” 

“Yes,” Solas said softly. “You have said that before.”

Fenris nodded, then rubbed fruitlessly at the glimmering mark on his palm. “I can only hope this cursed anchor will turn out to be similarly serendipitous in the end.”

Solas bowed his head once more. “I hope that for you, as well.”

Fenris nodded his thanks, and they continued their walk in a rather friendly silence. 

Later that night, after closing four rifts of varying sizes and almost being squashed by an angry giant, their little group made camp in the shelter of a rocky overhang by the river’s edge. Solas taught Hawke the basics of ancient elvhen glyphs while Fenris supervised the roasting of a leg of ram and Sera played some sort of complex hand game with a piece of string.

Fenris watched Sera as he turned the meat on the spit. Her fingers moved swiftly through a series of complex patterns with the string, and her tongue was poking out of her mouth in concentration. 

He jerked his chin at her hands. “What do you call that?”

She shot him a brief incredulous look. “String,” she said. 

Fenris gazed at her chidingly. “I mean what you are doing with it. The… patterns.”

Her eyes widened. “You daft? Cat’s cradle, of course!”

Fenris shrugged cluelessly, and Sera’s eyes grew even wider. “You don’t know cat’s cradle? Shite. Let’s learn you up. Come on then.” She waved her string-bound hands at him. 

He raised one eyebrow at her. She sighed loudly, then rose to her feet and plopped down cross-legged on the ground in front of him. 

She unravelled the string from her hands. “Come on, Ser Lordybloomers. I’ll teach you.” She held her hands up so they were about a foot apart. “Like this, yeah? Put ‘em up.”

Nonplussed, Fenris lifted his hands, and Sera draped the string around his fingers. Then she pointed at his middle fingers and at the string. “Talking fingers through there, and pull… Nice,” she said in satisfaction as he followed her instructions.

She leaned forward and pinched the X’s of string, then pulled them under another loop of string around his little fingers. A second later, the pattern of string was on Sera’s hands instead of Fenris’s, and the pattern was different than before.

“Right,” she said officiously. “Now pinch here and here and go under there.” She gestured at the string with her chin as she spoke, and Fenris had no idea what she meant. 

He stared at the string on her hands in growing puzzlement. “...What? I don’t–”

She sighed impatiently. “All right, look, I’ll do it with my toes. But don’t go thinking I’ll start prancing around all no-shoes like you two elfy nutters.” She kicked off her flats and started playing cat’s cradle using her own hands and feet.

Fenris watched her apprehensively. “What is the goal of this game?”

“Keeps the fingers nimble,” Sera replied. “You know, for… things.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

 _And here we go,_ Fenris thought wryly. He gave her a mockingly innocent look. “Things such as shooting arrows, you mean.”

Sera wilted slightly. “Well, yeah, them too. And also, you know, _things_?” She widened her eyes comically. 

“Fletching arrows?” Fenris said in the same innocent tone. 

Sera stared at him, and he stared blithely back at her. Then she burst into raucous cackling. “Right, you’re having me on,” she crowed. “Cheek and salt, that’s you.”

Fenris smirked and turned the meat once more, and Sera chuckled to herself as she twisted and plucked the string into a series of complex patterns with her fingers and toes. 

A minute later, Sera nodded her head at the ram leg. “When’s that gonna be ready then? Ribs are sticking to my spine over here.”

“Soon,” Fenris said. “And yes, you can have the fattiest piece.”

She smiled at him. “You’ve been hungry too, eh? Proper in-your-bones hungry.”

“I have, yes,” he said. He reached into his travel pack and pulled out a waxcloth of dried apricots, then handed them to her.

She eagerly opened the waxcloth and stuffed five apricots in her mouth, then smiled at Fenris again. “You’re all right, you know,” she mumbled through her full mouth.

Fenris shot her another smirk. “And now I know how to lure you into a trap. Food.”

She swallowed the apricots and elbowed him. “I mean it. At first I thought, ‘he’ll be no fun. Elfy sort, no smiling, so serious’. And that scary fist-y thing you do…” She shuddered. “Well, that’s just wrong. But still. You’re a little wrong, but mostly right.”

He huffed in amusement. “I shall continue to try and meet your high standards.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then popped another two apricots into her mouth. “Good on you, Inquisything. Oh, and I like your pretty bird, too.”

Fenris glanced across the fire at Hawke. She was lounging on her belly on a bedroll beside a cross-legged Solas, and they were animatedly discussing some charcoal rubbings that they’d taken from a crumbling bridge that afternoon. 

She caught Fenris’s eye and winked without interrupting her conversation with Solas. Fenris smiled to himself, then turned the meat again. “I am fond of her, as well.”

Sera elbowed him again. “Then you should really play this cat’s cradle with me. So you can get proper good at, you know. _Things–_ ”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “All right, enough,” he admonished, and Sera cackled.

A few minutes later, the ram meat was cooked and shared out, with the fattiest piece going to Sera as promised. By the time Hawke had pulled some oatmeal biscuits from her bag and handed them around, Sera had already devoured her meat. 

She happily took the biscuit that Hawke offered her and crammed it in her mouth, then held out her hand for another. “I’ll take Solas’s seconds. Getting a little big for his breeches, he is.”

Solas tutted. “That is unnecessarily rude, whether you meant it metaphorically or literally.” 

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Meta-whatsit? You’re making no sense. Or less sense than the usual no-sense.”

“You mean nonsense?” Hawke asked. 

Sera gave Hawke a look like she was mad. “No, _I_ mean things. _He_ doesn’t. Look, can I have another biscuit or not?”

Hawke chuckled, then offered her the entire packet. “Of course you can. Go nuts.”

Sera grabbed the biscuits with a grin. “No nuts in these, but thanks!” She darted over to the other side of the fire and sat on a boulder, then promptly started gobbling the biscuits. 

Solas pursed his lips in disdain, then turned back to Hawke. “As I was saying, the universal nature of the ancient glyphs is that they transcend the spoken tongue,” he said. “Ancient elves across Thedas would have spoken a multitude of dialects. But written Elvhen was common across the land. It tied them together in a way that spoken language could not.”

Hawke thoughtfully nibbled her biscuit. “So technically the Dalish could learn to read ancient Elvhen without needing to speak it.”

“They could, yes,” Solas said slowly. “Whether they would is another matter.”

Hawke gave him a chiding look. “Solas, I just can’t believe that not a single Dalish person would listen to what you have to say about your wandering in the Fade. Seriously, if you ever met Merrill…” She shook her head and smiled. “You would be her new best friend. She would never stop asking you questions.”

Solas smiled faintly – another of those sad little smiles. “Perhaps I will meet her someday,” he said.

“I hope you do,” Hawke said brightly. “It would be a match made by destiny.” She smiled at Fenris, then awkwardly dropped her gaze.

As usual, Fenris felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Merrill. But for the first time in years, he didn’t remain silent. 

“You’re right,” he said to Hawke. “Merrill would enjoy Solas’s company.”

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and Fenris gave her a small rueful smile. 

She beamed at him in return, then turned back to Solas. “All right, explain this to me again. A single glyph can mean an entire word, or it can be a sound?”

“A syllable, not a sound,” Solas corrected. “But yes; those are the basic principles of this orthography, from what I’ve gleaned in my studies.” He brushed the crumbs from his hands and pointed at the charcoal rubbing, which was laid out on the bedroll in front of himself and Hawke. “I am not… entirely fluent in the ancient glyphs, but I believe–”

“You’re not?” Hawke said. She gave him a mock-disappointed look. “Solas. How dare you be less than fluent? I rely on you to be my lovely shaven-headed resource for all things elven.”

“ _Ptthb_ ,” Sera interjected. “Head’s bald, not shaved. Big difference.”

Solas completely ignored Sera and gave Hawke an arch look. “I cannot decide if that’s meant to be insulting or flattering. Shall I go on?”

Hawke chuckled and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Please do. You know I could listen to you getting academic all night.”

Fenris pointedly cleared his throat, and Hawke beamed at him. “Unless, of course, a more dreamy baritone wants my attention instead.”

Fenris rose from his spot by the fire, then came to sit beside her instead. “Your flattery comes too late, Hawke.”

“Oh Fenris, don’t kid yourself,” she simpered. “It’s never too late to flatter _you_.”

He pinched her waist, and she squeaked and slapped his hand away. Solas subtly cleared his throat and gestured at the charcoal rubbings. “If I may…?”

Hawke nodded. “Please, please! Go on, Solas.” She shot Fenris a mock-reproving look, and he shrugged unapologetically.

Solas pointed at the parchment. “This symbol here: it is meant to represent a bow. Likely a mark of the goddess Andruil – the goddess of the hunt. Or of sacrifice, according to some.” He pointed to another. “And this here is a wolf. Likely to represent–”

“Fen’Harel,” Fenris said. “The Dread Wolf.”

Solas lifted his eyes to Fenris’s face. “You do know some of the elvhen tales, then.”

“Merrill told us,” Hawke said. “She called him the trickster god. Apparently he tricked both the Creators and the, er… not the Old Gods…” She looked askance at Fenris.

“The Forgotten Ones,” he supplied. He shrugged dismissively. “Whoever they were.”

Hawke snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Fen’Harel tricked the Creators and the Forgotten Ones into locking themselves away in their respective realms so he could walk in this world all by himself.”

Solas looked down at the parchment again. “That is the story, yes.”

Hawke stretched her legs out and idly scratched her chin. “It always seemed like an odd story to me.”

Solas looked up at her. “How so?”

“It seems lonely,” Hawke said. “If I was a fancy immortal god, I wouldn’t want to be alone forever.”

Fenris shrugged and stretched his legs out as well. “Perhaps being alone was a preferable alternative to suffering the eternal company of fools.”

Solas and Hawke both looked at him in surprise. “Why would you think the rest of the elves’ gods were fools?” Hawke asked.

“They permitted themselves to get locked away,” Fenris said. “That hardly strikes me as godly wisdom.” He waved his bare toes idly at the fire. 

Hawke grinned and playfully punched his shoulder. “Now you’re just being heretical on purpose.”

He shrugged again. “You can't be heretical if you don’t practice the religion in question.”

On the other side of the fire, Sera scoffed loudly. “You know what I think?” she said to Solas. “Your stupid stories are just that: stupid stories.” She hopped to her feet. “Enough tosh. I’m going to catch lightning bugs.” Then she cackled. “I’m going to _bugger_ off! Ha! How d’you like that, then?” She ran off without waiting for a response. 

Hawke snickered, but Solas curled his lip. “ _Fenedhis lasa,_ ” he muttered.

Hawke whipped around and grinned at him. “Ooh, I love foreign swearing. What does that mean?”

“It means…” Solas trailed off, then sighed and rubbed his bare scalp. “It means something rude that indicates I have sunk to Sera’s level.” He gazed at the parchment for a moment more, then looked at Hawke with a wry smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will turn in for the night.”

“All right,” Hawke said affably. “Goodnight, Solas. And thank you for the lovely lesson. It was titillating as always.” She winked at him.

He gave her a tiny smile and bowed his head. “You are welcome, Hawke.” He met Fenris’s eye and nodded, then rose to his feet and slipped into his tent. 

Hawke smiled at Fenris, then sidled closer to him on the bedroll until she was tucked into his shoulder. “And then there were two,” she murmured. 

He smiled back at her. “And so there were.”

She gently butted his chin with her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced around. “Now?” he asked. It was full dark by now, and they’d been in the Emerald Graves for long enough to know it was crawling with dangerous creatures, many of which were even more active during the night than during the day. 

“Yes, now,” Hawke said. She gave him a teasing grin. “Why, are you afraid of monsters in the night?”

Fenris arched one eyebrow. “Frankly, yes. You might be able to heal with magic, but I doubt you can replace an entire rib cage that’s been trampled by a bronto.” 

Hawke pouted. “Are you doubting my healing skills?”

“No,” Fenris said. “Simply your ill-timed sense of adventure.” 

“Oh, that’s all right then,” she said cheerfully. She rose to her feet and pulled on Fenris’s hand, then looked over at Sera, who was sitting on a boulder about thirty paces away and staring at an empty jar with an unusual degree of stillness. 

“Hey Sera,” she called. “We’re going for a walk. We’ll be back soon.” 

“Have fun doing _things,_ ” Sera called back, and she let out a mad giggle. 

Hawke raised an eyebrow as she took Fenris’s hand. “What’s she on about?”

“Nothing of consequence,” he assured her. 

They meandered hand-in-hand along the riverbank chatting quietly. But as they strolled beneath the speckled darkness of the starlight-sprinkled leaves, he couldn’t help but think about the history of the Emerald Graves: this territory that had been guarded against humans by the legendary Emerald Knights, and the human-owned mansions that now occupied the lushest parts of it. Proof that once again, humans had taken something that wasn’t theirs. 

Fenris would steadfastly maintain that the myths of the elvhen gods had no bearing on him. The bloody history of the Dales, on the other hand, was concretely true. 

As he and Hawke wandered along, the faint rushing of the river grew louder until they reached its source: a silvery fall of water set into a tree-and-moss covered ridge. 

“Perfect,” Hawke said. “Let’s go see if there really is some treasure hidden behind that waterfall.” She released Fenris’s hand and pulled her staff from her back, and with a wave of her hand, a faint green light rose in a wide circle around their general vicinity. 

Fenris studied the glow with appreciation. “Wards. A wise idea.”

“Thank Solas for the idea,” she said. “To keep off the giant spiders, you know.” She chuckled and placed her staff on the ground, then started pulling off her boots.

He watched her with fond exasperation. “Just because Sera thought the waterfall would be a good place to hide treasure doesn’t mean there is any.” 

Hawke grinned at him. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She stepped into the river so the water was licking at her toes, then looked back at Fenris in surprise. “It’s quite warm, actually. I might be tempted to go for a swim. Wash off any remaining demon ichor, or whatever you call that metaphysical goo they make when they die.” She shucked her long leather vest, then shot Fenris a challenging little look and started unbuckling her belt.

He smirked. “No, Hawke.”

“Oh come on,” she wheedled. “Come swim naked with me.” She unbuttoned her trousers and started untucking her linen shirt, then paused and gave Fenris a stricken look. “Unless you think it would be rude for a human to swim naked in the Emerald Graves?”

“Why are you asking me?” Fenris retorted. Then he bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so confrontational. 

Hawke’s expression grew slightly cautious. “Well, I don’t see anyone else around to ask, do you?” Then her eyes went wide and round. “Oh Maker, please tell me you don’t see anyone else around. If I have to deal with one more restless spirit today…”

He managed a faint smile. “No, it’s not, um…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You should go ahead and swim.”

She watched him for a moment, then stepped away from the water and stroked his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment, then gave her a frank look. “Do you think I am more like Solas or Sera?”

Her eyebrows jumped up on her forehead. “I think you’re different from both of them,” she said. Then she smiled. “If this is a contest for who’s the finest and most dreamy companion, then you know where my vote lies.”

He snorted and looked away from her. “I should know better than to ask such a biased opinion.”

She chuckled softly. Then she reached up and gently turned his chin so he was facing her once more. “Really, Fenris. Why would you ask that?” She tilted her head playfully. “You’re not having an identity crisis, are you?”

He gave her a resigned look. “It’s not a laughing matter, Hawke. Not truly.”

She sobered, then sat on the grass and pulled him down beside her. “Tell me what you’re thinking, then,” she urged. 

He rested his arms loosely on his knees and idly watched the flowing water while he gathered his thoughts. “Every other elf we’ve travelled with: they fit… something,” he said with difficulty. “Sera is the epitome of a city elf. Merrill is a prime example of a Dalish elf. Solas is…” He trailed off. What _was_ Solas’s defining trait, exactly?

“Odd,” Hawke supplied.

Fenris snorted. “You’re not wrong.” He thought for another moment. “Solas is an elven apostate,” he said finally. He studied the river for a moment longer before speaking again. “They are… exemplary representations of elves. And I… I am not sure what I represent.” 

Hawke was quiet. A moment later, Fenris glanced askance at her. 

She was smiling at him – one of those soft, understanding, _adoring_ smiles that instinctively made his heart flip. He ducked his head shyly and rubbed his hair. “You humans needn’t represent any particular aspect of… human-ness. Humanity, that is,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to be any particular type of human. You just _are_ , and no one questions whether you are human enough.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “Did Solas or Sera question whether you’re elfy enough?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not that.”

Her expression cleared, and she shuffled a little closer to him and rested her shoulder against his. “Fenris, I don’t think you _need_ to represent any specific elf qualities in particular. You _are_ an elf. You fight back when people mistreat you for being an elf. You talk back when people say shitty things about elves in general. That’s good enough for any elf.”

“Is it?” he said. Was it good enough that he defended himself? Should he not be doing more for… for elves in general?

Hawke, however, frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He eyed her solemnly for a moment. Her copper eyes were clear and earnest, and he loved her so very dearly. 

And she was so very human sometimes.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her rounded ear. “When this is all over… Perhaps I will ask Leliana to reach out to Briala. Perhaps the Inquisition can help her achieve her goals.”

Hawke smiled. “Briala really made an impression on you at the Winter Palace, didn’t she?”

He nodded slowly. Then he took a deep, bracing breath before saying his next words. “Perhaps we… perhaps _you_ might try to contact Merrill again. To see if she would care to assist Briala as well.”

He watched as Hawke’s expression shifted from shock to unadulterated joy. “Really?” she asked. 

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. A moment later, Hawke was hugging him tightly. 

She kissed his cheekbone, then pressed her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than any fucking thing in this world.”

His heart did another happy little flip, and he turned his head to face her. She pressed her forehead to his and stroked his cheek. “And as far as elves go – as far as anyone goes, really…” She smiled. “Well, I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are.”

He huffed in amusement. “No one is perfect, Hawke.”

She pulled away slightly and batted her eyelashes. “Not even me?”

He smirked, then cradled her slender neck in his tattooed palm. “Not even you,” he murmured. “You are, however, the perfect woman for me.”

She beamed at him, then shifted close and pressed her lips to his ear again. “You smooth talker, you.”

Her heated breath sent a pleasant little shiver down his spine. She pressed one more kiss to his cheek, then rose to her feet. “Now come on. Come skinny-dipping with me. Let’s scandalize some of the spirits that are pressing through the Veil here.” She grinned cheekily at him, and without waiting for his response, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it beside him on the grass. 

He watched with a swelling of fondness – and a delicious swelling between his legs – as Hawke divested herself of the rest of her clothing. Once she was nude, she sashayed over to the edge of the river and stepped into the water. 

She smiled coquettishly over her tattooed shoulder. “Come on, handsome. Are you joining me?”

He smiled. He’d meant what he said before; nobody was perfect, not even Hawke. But in this moment, with her bare golden body that he knew as well as his own and the heated affection in her smile – not to mention the years of squabbles and support and arguments and understanding that bound them together… 

In this moment, lit with moonlight and the faint glow of her magic on the ground, Hawke _was_ perfect. And Fenris loved her more than any damned thing in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerd note: maybe there’s some canon info somewhere about the Elvhen writing system, but I like to imagine it works like [the Mayan writing system](https://www.historymuseum.ca/cmc/exhibitions/civil/maya/mmc04eng.html) unless I’m told otherwise. 
> 
> Next up: Ye Olde Well of Sorrows! Full disclosure, though: I’m stupid busy for the next three weekends (UGHHHHH LIFE) so I’m not sure when the next update will come. But rest assured, I am working on it. 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who has stuck around for the duration of this ongoing beast! I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) in case anyone wants to reach out.


	38. Reckless - Part I

In the years they’ve been together, Fenris has heard Hawke breathing in a multitude of ways. 

He has heard her gasp of surprise before exploding into a sunny laugh when he unexpectedly pinched her waist. He has heard the sharp intake of her hiss of pain, and he has heard the slow and peaceful rhythm of her slumber. He has listened to the panting of her pleasure as he traced the shapes between her legs with his tongue, and he has savoured the lazy whisper of her loving words against his ear. 

For years, Hawke’s steady breath has been as constant and unwavering as the air that moved through Fenris’s own lungs. But the breath she took in the Vir’Abelasan… 

It was the sort of breath you take before a plunge. The last desperate breath before sinking feet-first into a dark and unknowable pool. And it was this breath that nearly stopped his heart. 

******************

Hawke’s wide-eyed gaze darted around the forest as they strode along the twisting moss-and-fern-lined path. “It’s rather beautiful here, isn’t it? It’s nice and warm too, like in Skyhold.” She squeezed Fenris’s arm. “Hey, sometime when this forest isn’t full of red Templars and explosions, we should come here on a holiday.”

Fenris glanced around briefly. The Arbour Wilds were nice, as far as forests went; it was as though the verdant lushness of the Emerald Graves was heightened even further to a nearly unreal shade of green. Huge red-and-gold plates of funghi bloomed from the ground and the trees in scalloped ridges, and large polychromatic birds took to the air in a flurry of colour and noise as Fenris and his companions jogged toward the Temple of Mythal. 

Morrigan huffed in disdain. “This is hardly a place for idle travels,” she said to Hawke. “This is ancient ground, mired in the secrets of old and thrumming with magic. I am surprised you cannot feel it.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her thinly-veiled smugness, but Hawke just laughed. “Honestly, Morrigan, I’m so busy trying to not trip over tree roots here that I can barely feel a thing.” 

Varric snorted. “ _You’re_ tripping over tree roots? Think about how I feel.” 

Fenris shot Varric a tiny smirk. He was indeed having to lift his shorter legs higher to get over the largest tree roots, some of which were as thick around as Hawke’s waist. 

“Should I carry you on my shoulders, dwarf?” Fenris teased.

Varric chuckled. “Appreciate the offer, but I’m good.”

Dorian glanced at Morrigan. “I hope you’re right about the temple being intact. I could use a building or two.”

Morrigan shot him a supercilious glance. “Do the woods discomfort you, Pavus?”

“It’s mostly the people trying to cut our heads off that manage that,” Dorian retorted. 

Hawke chuckled. “Oh Dorian, don’t fret. No one faults you for being an ‘indoors’ sort of boy.”

Dorian tutted. “Hawke, I resent that. You make me sound like some sort of spoiled housecat, when I’m obviously a fierce and elegant tiger.”

“A fierce and elegant tiger that requires silk cushions and a satin throw in his reading nook,” Solas said mildly. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Now Solas, don’t be jealous. Nobody said that _you_ couldn’t have silk cushions and a satin throw as well.”

Hawke laughed, and even Morrigan smirked. Varric sidled up to Fenris and elbowed his hip. “This is just like old times, huh? You, me, and a handful of mages.”

Fenris huffed. “As long as no one springs a surprise explosion on me without my knowledge, we will be all right.”

“So if you know about it first, it’s not a problem?” Varric said slyly. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “This had better not be your way of saying you have arranged for a surprise explosion.”

“Nah,” Varric said casually. “I left that to Sera.” He jerked his chin at the path ahead. “Red Templars at your two o’clock.” 

Sure enough, the path ahead was littered with Inquisition and Orlesian forces fighting against a squad of Corypheus’s men, and Fenris’s amusement instantly segued into a battle-ready focus. 

Hawke and the others slowed, and Hawke looked at him. “Are we ready?” she said. 

Fenris nodded. They had already decided on strategy before leaving the Inquisition’s base camp: Dorian, Morrigan and Solas would focus on controlling the long-range enemies while Fenris and Varric tackled the most brutish foes, and Hawke would focus primarily on protecting and healing the group, with Dorian’s backup for barriers as needed. 

Fenris squeezed Hawke’s hand. “Be–”

“–careful, I know,” she said softly. She released him and pulled her staff from her back, then nodded briskly. 

He nodded in return, then clenched his glowing left fist. With the usual faint ripple of discomfort, his lyrium marks burst into life, and the comforting buzz of Hawke’s barrier settled over him at the same moment. Thus prepared for battle, Fenris hefted his battleaxe and phased toward his nearest foe. 

It was a Red Templar who was advancing on an Inquisition archer. Fenris blasted a hole the size of his head through the Red Templar’s chest, then hurled the Templar’s vivisected heart at another nearby enemy. The bloodied organ hit the enemy square in the face, distracting him before he was felled by two of Varric’s bolts. 

All around them, blasts of fire and ice and lightning were pelting down in a flurry of precise magical attacks. With the help from the Inquisition and Orlesian soldiers, the Red Templar squad was dead in the space of minutes. 

Fenris exhaled, and his tattoos went inert. He smiled awkwardly as the soldiers saluted and bowed to him, then looked around for his companions. 

Hawke was talking quietly with Solas while Dorian and Varric jogged over to Fenris’s side, and Morrigan was prowling through a nearby ruined Red Templar camp. 

He made his way over to Morrigan. She held out a singed note as he and the others drew close. “This may interest you,” she said.

The note mentioned Red Templars grumbling about Grey Wardens being chosen for Corypheus’s honour guard. Dorian read the note over Fenris’s shoulder, then raised an eyebrow at Morrigan. “Jealousy within Corypheus’s ranks. Useful if we were running a sabotage campaign, perhaps, but in the thick of a battle?” 

“The petty jealousies are not what interest me,” Morrigan said. “A strategic change in Corypheus’s honour guard, however…” 

Fenris frowned. “Perhaps he wishes for more mages at his side. A balance of mages and Templars on the field?”

Morrigan shrugged and folded her arms. “Perhaps.”

Fenris shot her a flat look. “This is not the time for mysteries. If you have a better hypothesis, share it now.”

She lifted her chin. “I will remind you that I am here to lend my expertise, Inquisitor, not to impede our shared goals. Rest assured that when I have more to share than speculation, share it I will.”

“Wonderful,” Hawke piped in. She gently squeezed Fenris’s arm and smiled at Morrigan. “Let’s move along in the meantime, shall we? Varric’s lovely crossbow won’t load and empty itself.”

Dorian tilted his head. “You know, that sounded vaguely dirty.”

Hawke grinned roguishly. “Maybe that was intentional.”

Varric patted his favoured weapon. “Don’t listen to them, baby. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Morrigan sighed. “And once again, I find myself surrounded by fools.” She stepped around Fenris and sauntered away.

“Ooh. When we get back to Skyhold, I’m telling Leliana you said that,” Hawke called after her. 

Morrigan ignored her. When Morrigan was out of earshot, Fenris shot Hawke a flat look. “You trust her intentions here? Truly?” 

Hawke shrugged. “She hasn’t given us any reason not to. I don’t think she’s trying to deceive us.” 

Fenris gazed at her with a mixture of fondness and annoyance. It was just like Hawke to assume the best of the nomadic witch. “Her desire for the eluvian is obvious,” he said. “She wants it for her own ends.”

Hawke shrugged as she started leading them along the path. “She’s taken care of the one at Skyhold pretty well, and no one’s been possessed or killed because of it. Would it really be so bad if she got her hands on this one?”

Fenris opened his mouth to argue, but Solas spoke first. “Possessing an item of such power is an immense responsibility,” he said firmly. “One that the witch is not suited for.”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped. “You too, Solas? What’s _your_ problem with Morrigan?”

Solas pursed his lips. “She speaks with confidence of things she should not. She is—”

“Haughty,” Fenris said. “Arrogant.”

“Precisely,” Solas said.

Varric looked around the forest in an exaggerated way. “Hang on. Are these giant red mushrooms making me hallucinate, or did Chuckles and the broody one just agree on something?”

Dorian chuckled, but for once, Hawke passed up the chance for a clever quip. Instead, she gave Solas an apologetic look. “Solas, you know I adore you, but you can be rather arrogant sometimes, too.”

His eyebrows jumped up on his forehead, then creased into a frown. “It is not arrogance when one is correct!” he protested. 

Hawke pulled a little face. “That’s not entirely true.”

His scowl deepened for a moment before smoothing into a neutral expression. “In any case, we have a temple to breach and an enemy to thwart. Shall we carry on?”

Hawke gestured to the path ahead with a flourish. “After you, my shiny-headed friend.” 

He nodded tersely, then strode away with Varric and Dorian trailing behind him, and Fenris and Hawke followed in their wake. 

Fenris glanced at her. “I am surprised you’re arguing with Solas, given how much you adore him,” he remarked.

She mock-pouted at him. “Oh Fenris, don’t be jealous. You know I adore you more than anyone.”

Fenris pursed his lips, and Hawke patted his bum encouragingly as she went on. “Besides, I’m not arguing. I’m just pointing something out. He’s all humble and helpful most of the time, but then he has these moments sometimes where he acts like a smug prat, like with Cole and that amulet. It’s like he’s suddenly not himself.” She shrugged as they jogged along after the others. “I think that he and Morrigan are more alike than he thinks.”

Fenris smirked. “Ah. No wonder he is irate with you.”

She tutted. “Morrigan is not so terrible. You just haven’t spent any time with her. And she really loves Kieran, you know. She gets all soft when she’s talking about him. It’s rather cute.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. He could think of many words for Morrigan, but cute was not one of them. 

They hurried after Morrigan, and by the time they caught up to her, they had their weapons drawn to fight another group of Red Templars — no, not just Red Templars, but also… 

Fenris’s eyebrows rose. “Are those—?”

“They’re elves,” Dorian exclaimed. “The Red Templars are fighting elves.”

“Are they on our side, then?” Hawke asked in surprise. 

Her question was answered soon enough. One of the strange elves caught sight of them, and faster than Fenris would have thought possible, he nocked an arrow in his bow and aimed it at Hawke. 

Fenris phased forward and killed him with a fist through the chest. Then the Red Templars and the strange hooded elves both fell upon their party.

It was an uglier fight than the first. The Red Templars’ tactics were familiar now, but the unknown elves’ unusual mixture of combat techniques was not. They seemed to wield only daggers and bows, but they also appeared and disappeared from the fight with a fluidity that spoke of masterful magic, and Fenris was forced to use his lyrium marks more often than usual to follow them across the field of battle. 

At one point during the fight, something odd happened: Fenris phased at the same moment as one of the strange elves, and during a brief split second – as quickly as the blink of an eye – Fenris _saw_ the other elf as they both slid across the threshold of the Fade. 

For a brief moment, Fenris was startled, and the other elf seemed startled too. Then he lunged at Fenris with his daggers, and Fenris parried them before kicking his opponent in the chest. 

The hooded elf stumbled and fell, and Fenris slammed his greataxe into his foe’s unarmoured skull with a wet _crack_. Then he returned to the fray, darting across the field in an increasingly disorganized attempt to keep the elven enemies away from his vulnerable companions.

By the time all the Red Templars were dead, three Inquisition soldiers and two Orlesian footmen had been killed as well, and two of the strange elves had escaped. Hawke was healing a dagger wound to Dorian’s arm while Morrigan and Solas sipped some lyrium draught, and Fenris and Varric studied one of the dead elves while they caught their breath.

Fenris peered suspiciously at the elf’s face. He bore vallaslin like any Dalish, but he was taller and broader in the shoulders than the average elf. The armour he wore was more ornamental but streamlined than anything Fenris had ever seen, with a few familiar touches here and there that reminded Fenris of Dalish gear. 

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe they are Dalish,” he said to Varric. “Do you?”

Varric scratched his chin. “Can’t say. Their armour looks fancier than anything I remember Daisy’s people wearing, though.” 

Solas spoke up from a few feet away. “Perhaps the Temple of Mythal isn’t deserted after all,” he suggested. 

Morrigan sauntered over. “These creatures may be the reason few return from the Arbour Wilds,” she said. Then she crouched beside the dead elf and began rifling through his pouches.

Solas folded his arms. “Naturally, your first instinct is to pluck the goods from his body. To take that which you are not entitled to.”

Fenris shot him an odd look. What Morrigan was doing was hardly unusual. Their entire party, including Solas, had frequently looted dead enemies’ bodies for coin or weapons or ammo. Looting was partly what had helped Hawke to raise the money for Bartrand’s cursed expedition ten years ago. 

Morrigan also gave Solas a disbelieving look. “And what, pray tell, would you have me do instead? Leave these unknown enemies untouched so they may rot here in peace?” She waved a dismissive hand at the dead elf. “This is a novel foe. We should learn what we can from his death, however _offensive_ you may find that to be.”

“She’s right,” Fenris said. “Search them. We should find out whatever we can.” 

Solas bowed his head and turned away. Hawke caught Fenris’s eye, and Fenris returned her bemused grimace with a shrug before turning to speak to one of Leliana’s scouts. 

“Not much farther to the temple, your Worship,” the scout said with a brisk salute. “Commander Cullen is up ahead.” She lowered her voice. “Corypheus is up ahead, too, with Samson and his men. I think the Commander wanted to personally oversee the efforts to slow Corypheus down.”

_To slow Samson down, more likely,_ Fenris thought. He nodded his thanks, then turned to face the others. “Are we ready?” he called.

They nodded and murmured their assent, and together they continued in the direction the scout had indicated. They splashed across a river graced with a crumbling stone bridge, then onward through the eerily verdant forest, and soon they found themselves picking their way through a maze of overgrown half-collapsed archways punctuated with larger-than-life statues of elves, howling wolves, and owls. 

“Hey Solas,” Hawke said. “Have you ever thought about taking up archery?”

“Why?” Solas asked.

Hawke pointed at one of the many elf statues, all of which were wielding bows. “Because these fellows look like you.”

Solas shot her a flat look. “By virtue of their pointed ears and the hairless scalp, I assume?”

“Well, yes,” Hawke said. “Not to mention their handsomeness.” She gave him a winsome smile.

He pursed his lips, then turned away from her and continued to jog toward the Temple. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you still think you and Solas aren’t arguing?”

Hawke tutted and poked his arm. “Be quiet, you.”

They encountered one more mixed group of Red Templars and elves as they rushed toward the Temple, followed by a smaller group of three dagger-armed elves who seemed to be a scouting party more than an assault force. With growing frustration, Fenris continued to phase after the elves and to stun them with pulses of energy from his marks while the others rained down their bolts and their magical attacks. By the time they spotted Cullen and his squad fighting yet another group of elves and Corypheus’s men, Fenris was feeling rather irate at his own fatigue.

Cullen and his men were formed into a circle with half of their shields facing inwards and half of them facing out – a strategic move indeed, as it allowed them to guard both their backs and their fronts against the strange elves’ phasing. As Fenris watched, Cullen’s squad managed to take down two elves using this formation combined with a series of sudden lunge attacks, and by the time Fenris and the others had joined them, it was fast work to eliminate the three remaining elves and the small handful of Red Templars. 

Fenris returned his greataxe to his back and released a long but quiet sigh – not quiet enough, it seemed, for Hawke’s face was concerned as she sidled up to him. 

She discreetly pressed a bottle of elfroot into his palm. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’m well,” he said. He pocketed the elfroot instead of drinking it.

“You’re having to use your tattoos a lot more than usual,” she pointed out quietly. 

He steadily met her eyes. “Hawke, I am well. I swear it.”

She pursed her lips worriedly, but before she could say anything more, Cullen jogged over to join them. He impatiently wiped his brow and gave Fenris a respectful half-bow. “Thank the Maker you’re all right. Corypheus is ahead,” he reported. “Samson is with him. I pray that rune Dagna gave you will come in handy soon.”

“I agree,” Fenris said. “In fact, I would ask you to join us.”

Cullen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? Well, I – I should remain on the field with my men–” 

“Bring your men,” Fenris said. “We could use the support as we push toward Corypheus.” In truth, Fenris was starting to regret not bringing Blackwall, Cassandra or Bull in his own squad. The other three warriors were directing platoons elsewhere in the Arbour Wilds, but if Fenris had known he would be using his tattoos so much, he would have chosen to have more muscle by his side.

“That’s a great idea,” Hawke enthused. “Come with us, Cullen. It’ll be just like old times! You, me, Fenris and Varric fighting a red lyrium-infused idiot with delusions of grandeur…?” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Cullen huffed. “That does not sound like a terribly tempting offer, Hawke.” He looked at Fenris. “But yes. We would be honoured to accompany you. Especially if it means seeing Samson finally laid low.”

Fenris nodded. “Good. We should move on. How long ago was Corypheus last seen?”

Cullen gave his report as they jogged toward the temple. “Approximately five minutes ago,” he said. “He sent a squad of his men at us, and then we were set upon by those unusual elves.” He shook his head in dismay. “I lost three men to them before we managed to form up. Where did they come from?”

Hawke looked at Solas. “You said you thought they were occupants of the temple, yes?”

“It is a possibility,” Solas said. 

Cullen glanced at him with wide eyes. “Elves living in a lost and ruined temple? Do you think so?”

“Possibly,” Solas said with a polite nod. Then he said nothing more.

Hawke shot him an odd look, but she too fell quiet as they reached the mouth of a long and crumbling passageway flanked by two enormous howling wolf statues. Cullen entered the passageway without hesitation, and the rest of their group followed him in silence. 

As they neared the exit of the passageway, Morrigan broke the tense silence. “I hear fighting ahead,” she said. They cautiously followed Cullen out of the passageway and back into the sun, and Fenris’s eyes widened. 

They were on a broad stone walkway overlooking the Temple of Mythal. The enormous overgrown temple was set on an island at the base of a rushing waterfall, and the long stone bridge leading to the temple was flanked by two enormous dragon statues and defended by a dozen of those strange hooded elves. A handful of their elven comrades were dead on the ground, slain by– 

“Corypheus,” Dorian sighed. 

“And Samson,” Cullen growled. 

“And a bunch of unfortunate assholes,” Hawke said with a rueful nod at Corypheus’s honour guard of Wardens and Templars. 

Fenris nodded distractedly. Corypheus and Samson were talking to the elves, and if Fenris listened carefully, he could hear what they were saying.

Samson’s smug voice drifted up to the walkway. “They still think to fight us, Master,” he said.

Corypheus took a slow step toward the bridge. “These are but remnants,” he announced. “They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

_Well of Sorrows?_ Fenris thought. 

Hawke looked at Morrigan. “The Well of Sorrows? What’s that?” she whispered.

Fenris looked at Morrigan as well, and was surprised to find _her_ looking surprised. “You don’t know of it?” he demanded.

She lifted her hands cluelessly. Then the scene below suddenly erupted into brilliant, blinding light.

Fenris recoiled and threw up a hand to shield his face. Through his narrowed eyes, he could see that the light was emanating from the dragon statues flanking the bridge. The blinding magical flare was focused on Corypheus, who was twisting and collapsing with a shriek of agony and rage…

And then there was an explosion.

Fenris flinched at the cacophonous sound. Their party remained frozen for a moment as the explosion echoed away into nothing. Then Hawke’s voice broke the stunned silence.

“Maker’s fucking balls,” she said. “He’s… I think he’s dead.”

Fenris opened his eyes. Hawke was standing up and looking over the balcony with wide eyes, and as Fenris stood and looked, his heart thumped in disbelief. 

It was as Hawke had said. Corypheus appeared to be dead. His body looked like a melted and twisted chunk of flesh and bone covered loosely in charred rags, and he was surrounded by about half of his honour guard as well as the strange elves, all of whom were quite clearly dead. 

“Samson!” Cullen snarled. “He’s getting away.” 

Fenris looked up. Samson was crossing the bridge with a dozen or so surviving men in his wake. 

Cullen slammed his fist on the stone railing, then spun toward Fenris. “Permission to pursue?” he demanded.

Fenris blinked, momentarily thrown by Cullen’s deference. Cullen was the one with the commanding experience, after all. “Er, yes. You can pursue,” he said.

Cullen nodded sharply, then turned to his men. “Follow me,” he barked. “Engage if you find yourself in range of Samson’s men. Let’s go!” He and his squad took off at a run toward the bridge. 

Varric, meanwhile, was standing beside Hawke and frowning worriedly at Corypheus’s body below. “We sure about this?” he said. “This whole Corypheus-is-dead thing. The guy is like a bad copper – he just keeps coming back. How do we know he’s dead?”

Hawke grimaced. “Only one way to find out. Best go poke him with a stick.” Then she met Fenris’s eyes. 

She didn’t believe Corypheus was dead. He could see it in her face. And truthfully, neither did he. 

They made their way down to the lower level where the carnage lay. As they approached the scattered mass of dead bodies, Fenris’s attention was drawn to the enormous imposing statue that stood in pride of place at the mouth of the waterfall. It had the body of a woman, the wings of a dragon instead of arms, and a head that simply looked like slatted armour or… or something of the like. 

He looked at Solas. “A representation of Mythal, I assume?”

Solas nodded. “That is correct.” 

Hawke eyed the statue with interest as well. “She seems like an interesting lady, from this statue alone,” she said. She looked over at Solas. “You didn’t say much about her when we were in the Emerald Graves.”

“There was little mention of her in the charcoal rubbings we took,” Solas replied.

Hawke shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Dorian blurted. “Fenris–”

They all spun around. Dorian was staring at one of the dead Grey Wardens, who was moving. 

Fenris’s eyes widened. The dead Warden’s limbs and neck were twitching in a way that was absolutely not normal. As they all watched in breathless horror, the Warden’s body rose to its feet – seemingly pulled upright by invisible puppet strings – and a clawlike, disproportionate arm burst out of its chest.

A terribly familiar clawlike disproportionate arm. 

“It cannot be!” Morrigan exclaimed. 

“Not this shit again,” Varric complained.

Fenris didn’t reply. His numb and disbelieving mind could find nothing to say. But the need for words was immediately curtailed by a distant but terrible animalistic roar. 

Fenris looked up, and his stomach dropped in horror. Corypheus’s dragon was a large black spot in the sky, and it was growing nearer with every pounding beat of his heart.

“Across the bridge,” he shouted. “Now.” He snatched Hawke’s hand, and their entire group pelted across the bridge with Fenris and Hawke in the rear. 

Hawke’s hand was hot and sweaty, but Fenris didn’t let go. Her breathing was rapid and panicked as they ran, and the sound of it was soon it was competing with the dread-inducing flapping of the dragon’s wings as the cursed beast drew closer… 

Its roar tore through the air once more. Then Hawke dragged her hand from Fenris’s and spun around. 

He skidded to a stop and reached for her. “Hawke!” he yelled. 

She waved her arms in a grand gesture, and a glow of white magic rose from the ground in front of her feet. Then she turned to Fenris and grabbed his hand again. “Come on,” she urged, and she pulled him along at a flat run. 

The others were all waiting just inside the enormous double doors at the end of the bridge. As Fenris and Hawke flung themselves through the doors, the dragon’s enraged roar ripped through the air, followed by an oddly ethereal sounding _clang_. 

“Wards,” Hawke panted. “Come on, let’s shut these doors in case they actually hold the fucking dragon back.” 

They all pushed against the oddly heavy doors, and bit by bit, they began to close. A long, tense moment later, just as the doors were nearly shut, Fenris felt the ‘pop’ of Hawke’s wards dissipating. 

The dragon screeched, and the doors closed with a strangely sonorous _boom_. Then, with a ripple of eerie green magic, the doors sealed completely into an ornate and immaculate mosaic. 

Varric eyed the mosaic apprehensively. “Looks like we’ll be finding another way out of here later, then.”

Dorian eyed Hawke admiringly. “Wards to hold back a dragon? Very impressive.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s not me. It’s all you and Solas. You talked, and I… I listened.” 

Fenris frowned. She sounded distinctly out of breath. 

Solas looked at her in surprise. “You designed a unique warding spell for dragons based on our talks?”

“Not for dragons,” she said. “Just for… big stuff, you know. Giants, dragons, really _really_ big spiders… Shit.” She sat down abruptly.

A moment later, Fenris and Varric were crouching beside her. Varric patted her shoulder, and Fenris stroked her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked tensely. 

She smiled at them both and patted Fenris’s knee. “I’m fine, I swear. A little lyrium and I’ll be grand.”

Dorian pulled a bottle of lyrium draught from his belt and handed it to her. “Well, I am flattered. I’d like to request that you call this spell the Pavus effect, given the contribution I clearly made to your success.”

She gulped half of the lyrium, then smiled at him. “I was thinking the Pavusolas effect, actually, since I took ideas from both of you.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It is rather like you both had a magical baby together inside of my head.”

Solas’s approving expression twisted into dismay, and Dorian wrinkled his nose. “ _Venhedis._ Maker save me from that image.”

Hawke grinned at them both, but Fenris was not amused. She didn’t look terribly unwell, but her degree of fatigue concerned him. 

She finished the lyrium draught and glanced at him, then squeezed his hand. “I’m all right. I promise.”

He lowered his voice. “I don’t want you pushing yourself,” he warned.

She gave him a chiding look. “I was protecting us. That’s my number-one job, remember? Besides, everyone will be pushing themselves today. Look what we’re up against.”

He frowned and lowered his voice even further. “And to think you said this would be a cakewalk.”

Hawke laughed. “Oh Fenris, when will you learn? You should never listen to me. I never know how anything’s going to go.” She patted his and Varric’s knees, then pushed herself upright. “Come on, you handsome fools. Let’s get moving before everyone’s favourite undead magister shows up to fuck us all once again.”

“Hold on,” Dorian said. 

They all turned to look at him. He was studying Morrigan curiously. “Corypheus mentioned a Well of Sorrows,” he said. “I thought he was here for an eluvian?”

Morrigan scratched the back of her head. “I… am uncertain of what he referred to.”

“Confidence can only carry one so far, it seems,” Solas said dryly, and Morrigan shot him a filthy look.

Hawke gazed at Morrigan in genuine surprise. “I thought you said this temple was a place of legend. How come you don’t–”

“I was wrong,” Morrigan snapped. “Does that please you?”

Hawke blinked. “Er, no. No need to get testy. I’m not blaming you.” 

“ _I_ am blaming her,” Fenris said. He folded his arms and scowled at Morrigan. “Your information was incomplete. We thought we were looking to defend a mirror, and now we are looking to defend a well? We’re less prepared for this fight than we thought.” 

She returned his glare, then lifted her chin imperiously. “Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

Fenris pursed his lips, and Hawke gently squeezed his arm. “I think we can all agree on that,” she said cheerfully. “Keep the ancient elven toy away from the big bad magister baby. Shall we move along, then?”

Fenris dropped his arms to his sides and nodded, and they all began to pick their way through the overgrown grass and foliage.

“So,” Varric said. “Are we going to talk about how Corypheus keeps coming back? Because that trick is getting pretty old.”

Morrigan hummed thoughtfully. “His life force passes to any blighted creature, darkspawn or Grey Warden. ‘Tis why he wanted Wardens in his honour guard: bodies that could carry him, should something adverse occur.” She frowned thoughtfully as she stepped over a fallen log. “It is strange. Archdemons possess the same ability, and still the Grey Wardens are able to slay them. Yet Corypheus they locked away. Perhaps they knew he could do this, but not how.”

Hawke sighed. “Add it to the list of things I wish I’d known _before_ we wandered into his prison.” 

Varric patted her elbow. “Don’t beat yourself up. That whole debacle wasn’t your fault.”

She perked up. “True, for once. That did make for a nice change.”

Fenris frowned at her constant self-blame, but Dorian spoke before he could comment. “These elves. The ones who were guarding that bridge,” he said. “They’re guardians then, I presume? Attempting to protect this temple from intruders?”

“So it seems,” Morrigan said. “Two things are possible. One: this is a group of Dalish separated from their brethren. Cultists, fanatic in their desire to keep humans away.” She waved aside a hovering bee and continued to talk. “Two: these are elves descended from the ancients, having resided here since before the fall of Arlathan.”

Fenris scoffed. “The fall of Artlathan was almost two thousand years ago. You really think these elves could be two thousand years old?”

“Impossible,” Dorian said, but his eyes were wide with wonder.

Varric chuckled. “After everything that’s been going on, you think anything is impossible?”

Hawke shrugged. “Well, the Dalish stories do say the elves used to be immortal.”

“Yes,” Fenris said flatly. “And also that they lost their immortality when the humans came.”

Hawke’s lips twisted in a little moue of dismay. “We do tend to have that life-sucking effect, don’t we?”

“Be serious,” Fenris said chidingly. “You can’t truly think these are genuine ancient elves.”

Hawke shrugged again. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Morrigan, you really think it’s possible that they’re ancient elves?”

Morrigan gave her a tiny enigmatic smile. “With magic, anything is possible,” she said. “Whatever the truth, the guardians successfully kept their Temple a secret. A more sensible question might be ‘why’.”

Dorian stroked his mustache. “This alleged Well of Sorrows, perhaps? If Corypheus wants it, and these guardians are, well, guarding it, then it must be quite valuable.”

“Yes, it must,” Morrigan said. 

Fenris shot her a sharp look. Her tone was neutral, and her expression had returned to its usual smooth and supercilious mask. 

“Solas, what do you think?” Hawke said. “What would you bet on? Dalish or ancient?”

Fenris glanced over at Solas. The elven mage had been very quiet since entering the temple grounds, but at Hawke’s question, he lifted his head. 

“I suspect the truth will be unveiled soon enough,” he said. He pointed. “There. The Commander awaits us.”

Fenris looked. Sure enough, Cullen was standing with his squad near what seemed to be a raised square-shaped platform graced with two large stone tablets. One of Cullen’s men was slumped at the base of the platform, and two dead Inquisition soldiers had been carefully laid side-by-side by the platforms’s lower steps.

Cullen’s scowl lessened slightly as Fenris and the others drew close. “Fenris,” he said with a sharp nod. He pointed at a pair of ornate mosaic doors at the top of a broad stairway. “Samson went that way. The doors sealed shut behind him, and we have been unable to pry them open.” He gestured at the tablets in the center of the platform. “I suspect there are instructions here on passing through, but we obviously cannot decipher them.”

“Allow me,” Morrigan said. She sauntered onto the platform, and the ornately-carved paving stones beneath her feet lit up with a gentle blue glow. 

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Ooh. Now that’s a pretty effect.” She stepped onto the platform as well, and Fenris followed her somewhat reluctantly. 

Morrigan approached one of the tablets and brushed the vines away. “There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. _Shiven, shivennen_ …” She frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “‘Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen.”

Hawke peered at the stone, then pointed at a pair of glyphs. “Solas, doesn’t this mean a greeting?”

Morrigan looked at Hawke in undisguised surprise. “You read ancient Elvhen?”

Hawke grimaced. “Very little. Solas has been teaching me.” She glanced askance at him. 

Solas took a step closer to the platform and gazed at the stone. “ _‘Atish’all Vir Abelasan,’_ ” he read. “It means ‘enter the path of the Well of Sorrows’.”

Morrigan scoffed. “That is hardly different from what I had already revealed.”

Solas frowned, and Hawke shot Fenris a very brief sideways look before clapping her hands heartily. “Great. So, um…” She raised her eyebrows. “What now?” 

Morrigan continued to peer at the tablet. “Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here,” she said. “Following their path may aid entry.”

Fenris frowned. That was hardly helpful in clarifying what they were meant to do next. 

He glanced at the second tablet. Whether Solas knew it or not, Fenris too had been paying attention during his lessons with Hawke. Perhaps Fenris would be able to recognize a glyph or two. 

He stepped to the side to study the second tablet. Then the carved stone beneath his foot lit up with a gentle blue glow.

Hawke blinked. “Well, that’s something.” 

Dorian stepped closer and stroked his chin. “Keep walking around the platform, perhaps? Make every stone light up in turn?” 

Fenris looked at him. “Who, me?”

“Well, anyone really,” Dorian said with a shrug. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And if I should fail? If there is some unknown magical punishment for making a mistake?”

Dorian grimaced. “A fair point. Er…”

“Uh, Hawke,” Varric said suddenly. “What are you doing?”

Fenris looked up sharply. Hawke was already trotting around the platform, leaving a glimmering blue glow in her wake. 

His heart leapt into his throat, and he reached for her. “Hawke,” he said sharply. “Stop. Get off–”

She took his hand and stepped onto the stone on which he was standing. For a moment, all of the stones glowed with a brighter blue light. Then, at the top of the stairs, there was a sonorous _thunk_ , and the mosaic-laden double doors lit up with the same shimmering indigo-blue.

Hawke’s eyebrows rose, and she grinned at everyone. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”

“Excellent,” Cullen said. He crouched beside the dying soldier spoke softly to him, then squeezed his shoulder and ran toward the door with most of his men, leaving one of his soldiers behind to comfort the dying one. 

Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Hawke. “Well done. Let us see what awaits.” She stepped off of the platform and made her way toward the stairs. 

The others started to follow her. Hawke took a step toward the edge of the platform, but Fenris pulled her back. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. “What’s the matter?”

He stepped closer to her. “You are being reckless,” he said. 

She wilted slightly. “Fenris…”

“What you did was impulsive. You didn’t know what would have happened if a mistake was made,” he insisted. “These stones could be cursed. Demons could have risen–” 

“And we would fight them back, like we always do,” Hawke said gently. “Besides, I threw a barrier over us before I started running around. I’m not a complete idiot.” She smiled hopefully.

Fenris shook his head and cradled her neck in his palm. “I need you safe,” he whispered. “I can’t… I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

She pressed her palms against his chest. “Nothing will happen to me,” she said. “I’ll keep us safe, all right?” She smiled. “Defense first, for both of us. Hence the barrier. We’ll be all right, Fenris. Trust me.”

Her smile was bright and sunny and… and so damned fragile. He knew she wasn’t as blasé as she pretended to be, but she wasn’t going to speak her fears now, not while they were in the thick of this struggle. 

Fenris swallowed hard. “All right. Let’s move on,” he said. 

She smiled, then gently kissed his lips before leading him toward the stairs. As they neared the top of the stairs, however, Fenris frowned. Varric, Dorian and Solas were waiting, but Morrigan wasn’t there.

“Where is Morrigan?” he asked.

Varric gestured to an archway off to the east. “Exploring, I guess. I think she’d move into this temple if she could.”

Dorian tapped his chin. “The Witch of the Wilds living in a wild old temple,” he mused. “I suppose the abode would fit the reputation quite nicely.”

Fenris’s frown deepened. “There’s no time for exploring,” he said. “We need to press on.” 

They all jogged toward the eastern wing where Morrigan had gone. At the end of the wing was an enormous statue of Fen’Harel, even larger than the ones that were dotted across the Emerald Graves. 

Fenris trotted over to her. “Morrigan, we must move–”

“Why would this be here, I wonder?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Hawke said.

Morrigan turned to her. “It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. In elven tales, he tricks their gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting Fen’Harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “There’s a thought. If there had been naked paintings of Andraste in the Chantry, perhaps I’d have gone more often.”

Varric and Dorian snickered, but Solas folded his arms. “For all your ‘knowledge’, Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend of the weight of history,” he said scathingly. “The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric muttered.

Sure enough, Morrigan narrowed her eyes. “Pray tell, what meaning does our elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?”

“None we can discern by staring at it,” Solas snapped. 

Fenris frowned. It wasn’t like Solas to be this snappish, but it hardly mattered now. “We need to catch up to Cullen and Samson,” he said. 

As they hurried back toward the now-open door, Hawke spoke to Solas. “Solas, what _do_ you know about Fen’Harel?” 

“What leads you to believe I have knowledge that I have not already shared with you?” he said. 

“Um, what you just said to Morrigan back there?” she said. “It sort of, you know, makes it seem like you know more than you’re saying.” 

Her tone was light and playful, but Solas didn’t smile. “Perhaps later, when there is more time,” he said. “As Fenris said, we have a goal to reach.”

Hawke raised one eyebrow, then shrugged agreeably. “If you say so,” she said. Then she turned to Morrigan. “So this temple to Mythal. What was so special about Mythal, anyway?”

“She was worshipped as a goddess, as you can see,” Morrigan said with a casual wave at the many Mythal statues. “But what is a god but a being of immense power? The dread Old Gods were nothing more than dragons, after all. They rise as archdemons, and they die.” She shrugged. “Perhaps Mythal was not a goddess, but a powerful elf: a ruler among her kind. History often plays storyteller with facts.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Solas spoke up. “You admit lack of knowledge, and yet dismiss her so readily?”

Hawke looked at him in confusion, and Fenris was confused as well by Solas’s contradictory behaviour. Did he want Morrigan to treat the old Dalish stories seriously or not? 

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. “I do not dismiss her,” she said coolly. “I question her supposed divinity. One need not be a god to have value.” She turned to Hawke once more. “Truthfully, I am uncertain Mythal was even a single entity. The accounts are… varied.”

“Varied in what way?” Dorian asked. 

Morrigan smiled slightly, clearly enjoying the attention. “In most stories, Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. ‘Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.’ Others paint her as dark, vengeful. Pray to Mythal and she would smite your enemies, leaving them in agony.”

“More Dalish tales, I assume?” Solas said cuttingly.

Fenris frowned. He was growing rather weary of Solas’s waspishness. “Enough prevaricating,” he said to Solas. “If you know something more, just say it.” 

Solas shot him a resentful look, then turned his gaze to Dorian and Hawke. “The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the mother, protective and fierce.” He took a deep breath, then looked away. “That is all I will say. This is not a place to stir up old stories.”

Hawke gazed at him in bemusement, and Fenris couldn’t blame her; it was as though Solas couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to speak of the elven gods or not. 

Morrigan pursed her lips and pointedly turned away from him. “Whatever the truth, all accounts of Mythal end the same: exiled to the Beyond with her brethren.” 

“By the big bad Dread Wolf,” Hawke piped in. She looked at Solas. “We were just talking about this a few days ago.” 

“Yes, we were,” he said. Then he picked up his pace and jogged ahead of them.

Hawke gazed at his departing back, then gave Fenris a worried look. “What’s his problem, do you think? Was it something I said?”

“I can’t imagine what you might have said,” Fenris said. “You have been exceedingly patient with him.” He gave the back of Solas’s head an unimpressed look. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Varric said. “I think Chuckles is sore that he’s not the only one to know ancient elvhen secrets.”

“I believe you are correct, Master Tethras,” Morrigan said. “Your elven ‘friend’ seems to think me a usurper of the mysteries of his heritage.”

Hawke frowned. “Solas isn’t precious with his knowledge, though.”

Fenris tilted his head equivocally, and Varric winced. “Well…”

Hawke’s eyes grew wide. “What? What do you mean?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You said it yourself. He can be arrogant. Smug about his superior knowledge.” 

“Not usually,” Hawke retorted as she followed him through the open double doors. “Only sometimes. I think ideally he’d want everyone to know what he knows. And he’s always been nice about teaching _me_ things.”

Fenris snorted softly, and Hawke poked him. “What’s so funny?”

Dorian grinned at Fenris. “Ah, dear Hawke. Such a filthy mouth, but such an innocent soul.”

Hawke punched Dorian in the arm. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” she demanded.

Varric smirked at her. “Chuckles teaches you things because you flirt with him.”

“What the dwarf said,” Fenris agreed.

“Yes, quite,” Dorian drawled.

Hawke stared at them, then rolled her eyes. “Fuck’s sake, you three, that means nothing and he knows it. I flirt with everyone.”

Fenris and Varric exchanged knowing looks, but there was no time to further the discussion; they were reaching a second set of double doors, and as soon as Fenris pushed them open, he lit his lyrium marks and reached for his greataxe. 

Cullen and his men were mired in a battle with another squad of Corypheus’s forces. Cullen had lost two more soldiers, and his face was twisted into a fierce snarl as he charged toward a large Red Templar with a greatsword.

Fenris phased forward and grabbed the Red Templar, holding him firmly in place, and Cullen ran the man through with his sword. A few frenzied minutes later, the remaining Templars were dead. 

Cullen let out a heavy sigh and gave Fenris a perfunctory salute. “Samson has gone through those tunnels,” he panted. He pointed at a jagged crevice in the ground, which had the look of a crude rush excavation. “They disappeared a few minutes ago. There is little time to waste if we are to catch up with him.”

“All right,” Fenris said. “I will lead the way. Cullen, if you can—” 

“Hold a moment,” Morrigan interrupted. 

They all looked at her, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. She looked more urgent than she had since their arrival in the Arbour Wilds.

“While Corypheus’s men rush ahead, this leads to our true destination,” she said. She pointed to another mosaic-embedded double door in an alcove behind them. “We should walk the petitioner’s path as before.”

“The petitioner’s path?” Dorian asked. “You mean look for more of those altars with the magical terrace stones?” 

“Yes, Morrigan said. She took an eager step toward Fenris. “Performing these rituals may mean the difference between reaching the Well of Sorrows before Corypheus’s minions, or not at all.”

Fenris frowned. “Our goal is not to find the Well of Sorrows. Our goal is to stop Samson before _he_ reaches it.”

“That’s right,” Cullen said. “And the longer we delay, the longer the battle will last outside the temple.”

“Curly’s got a point,” Varric said. “If we have to figure this altar stuff out while Inquisition soldiers are dying in the forest?” He pulled a face. “The faster we get out of here, the more people go home.” 

“In this case, I must agree with the witch,” Solas said. “We should follow the rites. This is ancient ground, deserving of our respect.”

Fenris looked at him. “I do not value ancient traditions over lives.” 

Solas’s flat expression became even more stonelike. Then Morrigan took another step toward Fenris. “Inquisitor, I ask that you heed my advice. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well. I would have it restored.”

Fenris recoiled from her. “Ancient power restored? What are you talking about?”

She sighed, then gave him a frank look. “I read more in the first chamber than I revealed. It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows… but at a terrible price.”

Fenris stared at her with growing anger. “You are disingenuous. You _have_ been impeding our goals,” he accused. 

Hawke held out a placating hand. “Fenris—” 

He ignored her and took another aggressive step toward Morrigan. “Tell me exactly what those tablets said about the Well of Sorrows,” he ordered.

She lifted her chin belligerently, but her tone was calm. “Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague,” she said. “The term I deciphered was _halam’shivanas_ : ‘the sweet sacrifice of duty’. It implies the loss of something personal for duty’s sake. Yet for those that served at this temple, a worthwhile trade.” 

“And you would trade this… this personal sacrifice for a boon of great power?” Fenris asked.

“Yes, if that is the only way to preserve it,” Morrigan replied. 

Fenris glowered at her, then spun toward Hawke, who was watching them worriedly. “I knew it,” he said. “I told you this was the case. She has been scrounging for power this entire time.” 

Hawke’s anxious expression twisted even further. Fenris turned back to Morrigan and jabbed a finger at her. “You are a viper in the shadows, with your cursed eluvian and your hidden motives. Should I be on my guard for the moment when you decide to strike?” 

Morrigan laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes. Far easier to believe the Witch of the Wilds full of greed,” she sneered. “If there is anything I seek, Inquisitor, it is to preserve the knowledge of the past before all is lost.” She gestured expansively at the abandoned temple. “Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic… the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I _know_ to be true.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “So it is knowledge you seek, then?”

Morrigan’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Precisely,” she said. “My priority is your cause, but if the opportunity arises to save the Well, I am willing to pay the cost.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “If I have learned anything since I left Tevinter, it is this: knowledge is the greatest power,” he said. He lifted his chin and stepped away from her. “And so you admit that power is what you have sought all along.” 

Her face fell into a mixture of anger and disbelief. Fenris turned away from her and looked at Cullen. “We take the tunnel,” he said. “Let us finish this quickly.”

Cullen nodded sharply, then rejoined his men to give his orders. Fenris looked at Hawke. “Are you with me?” he said.

Her worried expression softened, and he could tell that she recognized his true question: _Have I done the right thing?_

She reached out and took his hand. “Of course I’m with you,” she said quietly. “Forever and a day, Fenris. You know that.” 

He swallowed hard and nodded, then looked at the others. “Are you ready?” 

Dorian, Cullen and Varric murmured their assent, and Morrigan folded her arms. 

Solas nodded as well. “I suggest we step with caution,” he said. 

His tone was very polite and very neutral, and Fenris nodded just as neutrally. 

He stepped toward the jagged edge of the crevice that Samson and his men had blown, then peered down. A drop of about six feet would place them inside of a well-defined stone tunnel that was clearly some sort of underground passage.

He looked at Hawke once more. A perfect smile lit her raspberry-red lips. “All right, handsome,” she murmured. “Let’s go. Together.”

He took a deep breath. Then, with Hawke’s hand clasped in his, Fenris jumped into the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering: I chose not to have Piper tagging along with Cullen in this chapter because Schoute is planning to write her canon Piper/Cullen story eventually, and I wanted to avoid any significant overlap between her story and this one.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone cares to stop by!


	39. Reckless - Part II

The tunnels beneath the temple were a veritable maze. Fortunately, Samson’s men left ample evidence to show which direction they had gone. Unfortunately, in the ten minutes or so before Fenris and his companions had decided what to do, Samson’s men had set both traps and guards to ambush their passage through the tunnels.

Cullen lost two of his remaining men, and Dorian sustained a sword wound across the thigh while Varric suffered a fractured arm, both of which Hawke quickly healed, but with no small effort. The team swiftly changed strategies to rely on magic attacks instead, blasting each consecutive room with fire and lightning and ice before moving through. 

Despite the quick change in tactics, the scramble through the tunnels was wearying, and by the time they reached another set of double doors — normal non-magic ones this time, thank the Maker — Hawke and Solas needed to take another bottle of lyrium each, and Varric was down to his final dose of elfroot. 

Morrigan delicately wiped her forehead and gave Fenris a condescending look. “Considering the effort involved, I do hope this route was more expedient.” 

_Vishante kaffas,_ Fenris thought sourly. He strode up the steps toward the double doors, then looked at his companions. “All right. Are we prepared for… whatever is beyond this door?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Varric said affably.

Dorian shrugged and brushed some dirt from his sleeve. “You know how much I enjoy a good mysterious door.” 

“Inquisitor. Er, Fenris,” Cullen said with a businesslike nod. “At your command.”

Fenris looked at Hawke, and she winked. “Right behind you, handsome,” she said.

He nodded. Then, with one last deep breath, he pushed open the doors. 

Finally, at last, they had reached the Temple of Mythal. Fenris adjusted his grip on his greataxe and gazed cautiously into every corner of the room before he allowed anyone else to enter. 

They slowly moved into the empty room. Their footsteps echoed from the tiled mosaic underfoot to the corners of the vaulted ceilings, and Fenris peered suspiciously at the many doors leading away from this central room – so many possible entrances for enemies to come flooding in… 

“‘Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan said slowly. “What was this chamber used for?”

“Choreographing dance routines, I bet,” Hawke said cheekily. 

Fenris managed to give her a tiny smirk. “You’re an idiot.” 

She blew him a kiss. Then six hooded elves suddenly appeared right behind them. 

Fenris tensed and lifted his greataxe, but Solas held out a hand. “No!” he exclaimed. 

“ _Venavis,_ ” a deep and imperious voice called out. 

Fenris whipped around. On the balconied upper level, a single hooded elf stood staring down at them with a very neutral expression. 

“Fenris,” Solas said, very quietly. 

Fenris hesitated, then replaced his weapon on his back. 

The elf on the balcony folded his arms. “You are unlike the other invaders,” he said to Fenris. “You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen. You bear a form of the true _vallaslin_ and the mark of magic, which are… familiar.” His gaze flicked over Fenris’s chin and neck, then dropped to Fenris’s glowing left hand.

Fenris’s heart jolted. _A form of the true vallaslin?_ Did that mean the lyrium scars on his body were a type of vallaslin?

The hooded elf interrupted his anxious thoughts. “How has this come to pass?” he asked. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

Fenris swallowed his sudden agitation. This new source of stress would have to wait for later. “Those other invaders are our enemies,” he said. “We seek to kill them, just as you have done.”

The hooded elf gazed at him impassively, and Fenris unflinchingly returned his stare. Then he began to slowly pace along the balcony. “I am called Abelas,” he said. He waved to the other hooded elves. “We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place.” He paused and folded his hands behind his back. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the Vir’Abelasan.”

Morrigan turned to Fenris. “‘The place of the Way of Sorrows’,” she whispered excitedly. “He speaks of the Well!”

Abelas frowned. “It is not _for_ you. It is not for any of you.”

“What is it, exactly?” Hawke piped up. “The Vir’Abelasan?”

Abelas flicked his eyes to her and resumed his slow pacing. “It is a path,” he said. “One walked only by those who toiled in Mythal’s favour. More than that, you need not know.”

Hawke tilted her head curiously. “And, um. What about you, then? Are you Dalish, or…?”

Abelas narrowed his eyes. “You mean the ones we see in the forest? Shadows wearing false vallaslin?” He sneered. “They are _not_ my people.”

Fenris felt a jolt of dislike. For an elf who proclaimed himself to not be Dalish, Abelas’s exclusive attitude was very Dalish indeed. 

Hawke wilted, apparently also disappointed by Abelas’s unkind response. “Well, that’s… something,” she said lamely. 

Then Dorian chimed in. “So you are from ancient times, then?” he said to Abelas. “From the time before Tevinter destroyed Arlathan?”

Abelas shook his head. “The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

Fenris looked up in disbelief. Dorian’s face was lit with equal surprise. “Wait,” Dorian said. “That’s not right. What are you saying?”

Abelas twisted his lips disdainfully. “You would not know the truth. Shemlen history is as short as the pool of your years.”

Dorian took a small step closer to the balcony. “What _did_ the Imperium do, then? Are you saying it wasn’t a war?”

“It was the war of carrion feasting upon a corpse, yes,” Abelas said. Then he waved his hand in a sharp gesture. “Enough of these idle queries. The history you speak of is meaningless – one single grain of sand lost in the tides of time.” He nodded at his hooded compatriots. “We endure. The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.”

Morrigan shifted her weight impatiently, then leaned in to Fenris. “Inquisitor, we must reach the Well of Sorrows before Corypheus’s pets,” she murmured. “You must convince this… this Sentinel to allow us passage.” 

Fenris glanced over his shoulder at the other six Sentinels, whose bows were still trained on their party. He wasn’t convinced he could muster a good enough argument to get them out of this precarious position. 

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “A shame that Josephine is not here to smooth this over,” he lamented. “Not that she would have fared well during the battle, but….”

“Any ideas, Solas?” Hawke murmured. “Fade advice, that sort of thing?”

“What shall I say?” Solas burst out. “Shall I sway him from a millenium of service by virtue of our shared blood?” He gestured at Abelas. “He clings to all that remains of his world because he lacks the power to restore it.”

Hawke shot Fenris an alarmed look and patted Solas’s shoulder. “All right, all right, all you had to say was no.” 

_Kaffas_ , Fenris thought. He shot Varric a pleading look. “Any chance _you_ could do the talking?” he said, only semi-jokingly. “You are the master dissembler here.”

Varric gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’d love to, elf, but I’m not the one with the fancy glowing hand.”

Fenris grunted, then looked up at Abelas once more. “We do not want to drink from your Vir’Abelasan,” he said firmly. “We wish only to stop our enemies from drinking from it. Our goals are the same as yours.”

Abelas lifted his chin appraisingly, and Fenris waited with bated breath. 

Then Abelas shook his head. “I do not believe you,” he said.

Fenris’s heart sank as Abelas went on. “Our duty is clear,” he said. “The Vir’Abelasan shall not be usurped, even if I must destroy it.” He waved to the other six Sentinels. “ _Masal din’an,_ ” he commanded, and he turned and ran off.

“No!” Morrigan blurted. With a burst of violet light, she transformed into a large black crow. 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed.

“Morrigan,” Fenris barked, but it was too late; the witch had flown off in Abelas’s wake. A second later, the familiar tingle of Hawke’s barrier settled over him. 

It was a second too late. A Sentinel’s arrow punched into Fenris’s right shoulder, and he stumbled back with a grunt of pain. 

“Fenris!” Hawke screamed. The white light of her new ward spell appeared around their party, and then Hawke was beside him. 

She placed one hand on his chest and grasped the arrow shaft. “Ready?” she asked.

Fenris met her eyes. Her face was white with fear, but her expression was set. “Do it,” he gritted.

She pulled the arrow out with one brisk tug, and Fenris hissed in agony. Hawke immediately placed her palm over the wound, and as the others began attacking the Sentinels, the green glow of Hawke’s healing magic poured into Fenris’s flesh. 

A moment later, the wound was sealed. Hawke lowered her hand and exhaled. “All right, that’s–” 

Fenris cut her off with a quick hard kiss. “Be cautious,” he told her, and he phased straight into the threshold of the Fade. 

Two Sentinels were phasing at the same time as he. Fenris shifted toward one of them and dragged him out of the Fade. 

They landed in a heap on the floor right next to Dorian, who jumped in shock. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he gasped. “What–!” 

Fenris ripped the Sentinel’s heart out, then rose to his feet and looked at Dorian. “I will do this again,” he panted. “Be ready.” He looked around the room. Solas and Varric had killed one Sentinel, leaving four alive to appear and disappear infuriatingly around the room.

He phased again and chased after one of the Sentinels, then pulled him out of the Fade and stumbled to his knees as they reappeared in the real world. “Dorian,” he barked, and he released the Sentinel.

Dorian set the Sentinel on fire. The Sentinel shrieked in pain, but Fenris didn’t wait for him to die. He chased the other Sentinels, pulling them from the Fade so his companions could easily attack them. A few long and gruelling minutes later, the Sentinels were all dead.

Fenris exhaled and pushed a trembling hand through his hair. He wasn’t accustomed to phasing this often during a battle, and sustaining the particular suspended sort of state that it required seemed to have drained his stamina. 

Hawke trotted over to him. “Drink that elfroot,” she said firmly. “You need it.” She reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of elfroot she’d given him earlier. 

He nodded silently, but before he could uncork the bottle, Solas was striding over to him. “This was unnecessary,” he railed. “A pointless waste of life!”

“Easy there, Chuckles,” Varric said calmly. 

Fenris swallowed the elfroot and his own simmering temper before replying. “They attacked first. What would you have us do instead? Allow them to take our lives?” 

“If we’d completed the rituals, perhaps the Sentinels would have been open to discussion,” Solas snapped.

A pang of guilt tugged at Fenris’s stomach. He glared at Solas. “That avenue is closed now,” he said tersely. “We must move on.” He looked at Cullen. “Can you determine which way we should go? We need to find this blasted well.”

“Of course,” Cullen said. He gestured to his remaining men, and they split up to check the various exits. 

“I will assist,” Solas said. He turned and strode toward the nearest doorway without waiting for a response.

Fenris glared at his back, then ran a hand through his hair again. “ _Fasta vass._ ”

“Agreed,” Dorian said. “He’s quite the charmer today, isn’t he? Perhaps he should get his nose out of his magic treatises and read an etiquette book or two.”

Fenris grunted. Then he glanced at Hawke, who was rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “You need not fuss.” 

She smiled, but Fenris could still see the worry in the tilt of her eyebrows. “I know I don’t need to, but I’ll do it anyway,” she said, and she kissed his cheek. 

Dorian good-naturedly rolled his eyes, and Varric patted Fenris’s elbow. “That was some display there, elf. You were moving faster than those Sentinels.” He shrugged. “Guess that’s what napping for a few hundred years does. Gets you rusty with your magical Fade-zipping stuff.”

“Fenris’s powers aren’t magic, remember,” Dorian reminded him. “It’s the lyrium in his skin.”

“Right, right,” Varric said. He eyed Fenris appraisingly. “Hm. That’s interesting that you and these guys can move around the same way, then.”

Hawke’s fingers tensed slightly on Fenris’s shoulder, and Fenris forced his face to remain neutral. He had yet to tell anyone but Hawke about his origins as a mage. 

“It is interesting, isn’t it?” Dorian mused. “Aside from you and Cole, the only other person I’ve seen who moves that way is Solas.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, distracted from his anxiety by Dorian’s words. “Solas?” he said. 

“Yes,” Dorian said. “He’s able to blink in and out at times, not unlike the way that you or Cole do. He does it very rarely, though. I asked him about it once, and all he said was that it’s a trick he learned–”

“–in the Fade,” Fenris, Varric and Hawke said at the same time.

Dorian smirked. “Let’s sing the chorus all together now, shall we?”

Varric and Hawke chuckled, and Fenris managed a faint smile, but this news somehow bothered him even more. How had he never noticed Solas moving around the battlefield like this? And why had Solas not mentioned it when they’d been talking about Fenris and Cole’s similar movements, all those months ago?

Hawke stroked the back of Fenris’s neck, then turned to Dorian. “How about those Sentinels, though? Shame we had to kill them, but oof. That Abelas.” She fanned herself playfully. “I think I’d fancy him if I wasn’t already married to the finest elf in Thedas.”

 _Very smooth,_ Fenris thought with a hint of amusement. She was clearly trying to shift the subject away from magic and his tattoos. 

Fortunately, her feeble diversion worked. Varric snorted in amusement, and Dorian sniffed disdainfully. “He was quite handsome, yes, if old and angry are your type,” he retorted. “Truth be told, I’m much more interested in what he had to say about the Imperium and the ancient elven empire.” He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “So the elves destroyed themselves before my countrymen came along… Could that be true? I can hardly believe it.”

“Disappointed, are you?” Fenris said suddenly.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. ”Pardon?”

Fenris frowned at him. “Tevinters have prided themselves for ages on end for their defeat of the elven empire. This would destroy their national identity if they knew. Does it disappoint you?”

“Fenris,” Hawke said sharply. 

Dorian’s expression faded into disbelief. “Is that truly what you think of me, after all of this? That I’m just another conquering Vint?”

Fenris paused, then exhaled sharply. “No,” he said. “I’m… sorry.” He rubbed his face, then met Dorian’s eye once more. “I am sorry, Dorian. That was… an unfair accusation. It’s all this… this is…” He trailed off and waved vaguely at the temple. Truth be told, the things Abelas had told them were disturbing him more than he wanted to admit. Particularly what he’d said about Fenris’s tattoos – the ‘true vallaslin’, he’d called it. Whatever that ominous phrase meant. 

Dorian eyed him for a moment longer, then shrugged and folded his arms. “It’s all right. You can buy me a bottle of wine as an apology when we return to Skyhold.”

Fenris nodded, then shot him a knowing look. “Or perhaps a cask of that disgusting dwarven ale you adore so much.”

Dorian laughed. “You really are a cruel leader.”

Fenris smirked. Then Solas called out to them from the left side of the room. “This way,” he said. “This path leads further into the temple.”

They all trotted over to join him, and together as a group, they began to make their way through the temple. 

The rest of the ancient building was as enormous and elegant as the front room. Intricate mosaics and stylized murals decorated the walls, and there were a number of enormous gilded statues scattered throughout the many rooms. Within a few minutes, however, they ran into yet another group of Sentinels. 

With a pang of weariness, Fenris used his new battle tactic of pulling the Sentinels from the edge of the Fade so he and the others could attack them in the real world. By the time the fight was done, he was so tired that he was forced to lean against a wall for support. 

A second later, Hawke was by his side. “Fenris–”

“Don’t,” he muttered. He didn’t want the others to be discouraged or worried by his flagging strength. 

She bit her lip anxiously, then stepped closer to him and leaned her weight into his chest. She curled her fists against his abdomen, and Fenris raised an eyebrow. 

“What are you doing?” he said quietly.

“Making everyone sick of us so they’ll go away,” she muttered. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “My hero,” she said more loudly. “Such a strong and handsome elf…”

Varric tutted. “Come on,” he said to Cullen, Dorian and Solas. “Let’s leave these two alone and figure out where we’re going next.”

When they were out of earshot, Hawke stepped slightly away from him. “Fenris, I’m officially concerned,” she said softly. “What’s going on? It’s not like you to be this fatigued.”

He gestured irritably at his own arms. “It’s the cursed lyrium scars. I’m not usually required to press this much focus into them for so long. I feel…” He waved vaguely at himself. It wasn’t the same sort of muscle fatigue that he was used to after regular fight. 

He tried again to describe the feeling. “I feel almost… depleted. Or… emptied in some way. As though some part of myself has been drawn out of me. I can’t…” He trailed off in alarm: Hawke’s eyes were growing huge. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he demanded. 

“I think you’re getting overextended,” she whispered.

He stared at her. “What?”

“The tattoos,” she said. “They contain your magic, yes? If you have to use them much more than usual, maybe it’s like when my mana is getting sapped.” She swallowed hard, and with a pounding heart, Fenris watched the fear crawling across her face.

She took his hands. “Fenris, if you’re getting overextended–”

“We don’t know that,” he interrupted. 

“But let’s just say you are,” she insisted. “If you are, you can’t use your tattoos anymore. Not for a while. Not unless…” Her coppery eyes grew even wider. “I wonder if taking lyrium potion would help you.”

He recoiled slightly. “And what if it poisoned me instead?” he demanded. “Killed me or forced me into the shackles of addiction like the Templars? You would risk that?”

“Don’t be stupid. Nothing means more to me than your life,” she retorted. “Besides, I’m not suggesting you take some right now. It’s just a thought.” She squeezed his hands. “And if you don’t want to take that risk, you’d better not use your tattoos again. Not until I say it’s safe.” 

He gazed at her in exasperation. “There is no way of knowing how many more enemies lie ahead. How will you know when it’s safe to use the tattoos again?” 

“I know what it looks like to be overextended,” she reminded him. “Trust me, Fenris. Don’t use your tattoos again until I say it’s okay. Please.”

Her beautiful amber eyes were wide and scared. Fenris unclenched his jaw and nodded. “All right. Fine,” he conceded. “I will rely on regular combat for now.”

She sighed and nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then pressed her lips to his ear. 

“I can’t bear the thought of living without you, either,” she whispered. “Don’t put the thought in my head, all right? I’d much rather think about nice things instead. Like cake. Or you getting naked. Either one.”

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and nodded. She finally stepped away from him, and together they ran to catch up with the others. 

Two rooms later, Fenris and Hawke spotted the rest of their party standing near a mural and talking quietly. As Fenris and Hawke entered the room, the others looked up and started to move toward the next set of stairs.

“Finished your, er, private discussion?” Cullen said slightly pointedly. 

Hawke grinned at him. “Was that very nearly a dirty joke? Piper’s been a good influence on you, I see.”

Cullen’s cheeks flamed red, and Dorian looked at Cullen in delight. “What’s this about you and our dear Mad Piper?” 

“It’s… we’re… it’s none of your business,” Cullen muttered.

Dorian chuckled, and he and Cullen moved ahead to follow Solas, who was leading their party once more. Varric, on the other hand, fell back to walk with Fenris and Hawke. 

“I know a distraction when I see one,” he said quietly. “What’s really going on?”

Hawke looked at Fenris, and Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t use my lyrium marks again for some time,” he told Varric. Perhaps he would tell Varric the full truth when they returned to Skyhold, but he couldn’t bear to have that conversation now.

Varric’s eyebrows rose with worry. “Oh, shit. Are they, uh, broken or something?”

“No,” Fenris said. “Just… temporarily worn down. I will have to rely on normal combat alone.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Varric said. He gently patted Fenris’s elbow. “You’ll be mundane like the rest of us. Well, like me and Curly and his boys there, at least.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Varric made a good point. This would be the first time that he would fight without the misbegotten powers of his lyrium tattoos. 

The first time that he could remember, at least.

They continued to run through the temple, and Fenris was shamefully grateful when they didn’t encounter any more living Sentinels. Eventually they reached a set of enormous ornate double doors in the same style as the ones at the temple entrance. 

Hawke slowed and gazed up at the doors. “This looks like the exit,” she panted. She looked around at the rest of them. “What do you all think?”

“I agree,” Cullen said. He turned to Fenris with a businesslike frown. “Are we prepared to proceed?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He was already feeling better from the break from his tattoos and the elfroot Hawke had made him drink. 

Cullen nodded, then pushed open the doors. 

They stepped out of the temple onto another moss-and-fern-covered balcony. In the near distance, less than a kilometer away, there was a steep hill blanketed with thick foliage and flowers and topped with what looked like a small and richly gilded amphitheatre. Strangely enough, there was no discernible way to get to the amphitheatre, not from what Fenris could see. 

The sounds of shouting and clashing weapons met his ears. He hurried to the edge of the balcony and looked down at the courtyard below.

It was Samson. They’d finally caught up to the Red Templar General. He seemed to have only six men left, but from the look of the four unfortunate Sentinels they were facing, six was more than enough. 

Fenris turned to Cullen, whose lips were twisted into a sneer as he watched the fight. “Let me speak to him before we attack,” Fenris said quietly. “We need time to use Dagna’s rune.” 

Cullen nodded sharply. “As you say. I will await your command.”

Fenris turned to the rest of their party. “This is what we came for. Let us finish this and go home.” 

Cullen gave him a small salute. Dorian and Varric smiled at him, and Solas nodded briefly. Hawke squeezed his hand, and together with Cullen’s soldiers, they ran down the slope toward the courtyard. 

They reached the threshold of the courtyard just as Samson was speaking with his surviving men. “You tough bastards,” he said jovially. “A day’s march, hours of fighting, and still fierce as dragons. The Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.”

Fenris and his companions stepped into the courtyard, and one of Samson’s men pointed. “Samson! Ser, watch out!”

Samson turned and smiled at them. “Well, if this ain’t the Kirkwall reunion no one asked for,” he said. “But this time the elf is the center of attention, eh?”

“Unfortunately so,” Fenris said neutrally. 

Samson’s smile widened slightly. Then he gave Hawke a mocking half-bow. “Serrah. Funny way you’ve got of running from the mess you made back home and straight into another one.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but Hawke simply laughed. “I could say the same to you,” she said. She gave him a rather cutting once-over. “Red lyrium hasn’t done much for your looks, I’m afraid.”

Samson’s smile sharpened slightly. “And time’s not done much for your smarts, has it, _Champion?_ ” He gave her a disdainful look. “Always on the losing side, you are. Putting your eggs in the wrong basket. Now, me? I know where I stand, and that’s with the Elder One.” He folded his arms confidently. “Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, and now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows.”

“‘Vessel’?” Cullen interjected. “That’s what you mentioned in that blasted letter you left. What madness is this?”

“Ah, so you did get my letter, then,” Samson said. “Sure you don’t want to join us, Cullen? There’s still time to get your head on straight.” 

Cullen glared at him. “What is the vessel, Samson?”

Samson shrugged. “What else empties a well? I’ll carry its power back to Corypheus.” He grinned at them. “Do you know what’s inside the Well? _Wisdom._ I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor.” He gave Fenris’s glowing palm a disdainful look.

Hawke folded her arms. “And what makes you think he won’t just toss you aside after you’ve given him this so-called wisdom in the Well?” 

“Corypheus entrusted me with this task,” Samson said confidently. “He trusts _me_. He’s not going to toss aside a loyal man. Not like that bitch Meredith.” He raised one hand and clenched his fist, and the lyrium crystals that dotted his armour began to glow a violent and ugly red. 

Fenris tensed with anticipation. _This is it,_ he thought. This was the moment Dagna had said to wait for: Samson had to activate his armour, and then when Fenris – or one of the others – activated Dagna’s special rune, it would destroy the red lyrium that coursed through Samson’s armour. 

Samson pounded his chest. “This is the strength the Chantry tried to bind,” he announced. “But it’s a new world now, with a new god.” He gave Fenris a feral grin. “So, _Inquisitor_ , how will this go?”

Fenris shrugged. “I suppose we shall see,” he said. He glanced casually over his shoulder. “Varric?”

Varric shrugged as well and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’ve no idea what’s going on. I’m just along for the ride.”

All at once, every crystal of red lyrium on Samson’s armour exploded.

Samson stumbled back in shock. “What did you do?” he gasped. He scrabbled at his ruined chestplate and vambraces, then looked up at Fenris with a face twisted with rage. “What did you _do_?”

Varric pulled the spent rune from his pocket and tossed it at Samson’s feet. “Kirkwall sends its best,” he said. 

Hawke snickered. “That rune wasn’t even from Kirkwall.”

“Come on, Hawke,” Varric complained. “You’re ruining my one-liner.”

Samson snarled, then waved to his men. “Kill them! Kill them all!” He reached over his shoulder and pulled an enormous two-handed sword from his back.

A two-handed sword with a wicked-looking blade of red lyrium.

Fenris’s amusement abruptly faded, and Cullen did a double-take. “Maker’s breath. Is that–”

“Meredith’s fucking sword,” Hawke blurted. She shot Fenris a panicked look. “Fenris, you need to be–

“I will,” he said tersely as he pulled his greataxe from his back. He waited for her barrier to settle over him, then rushed at Samson with a roar. 

Samson swung his enormous sword at the same moment, and without thinking, Fenris phased behind him, then slammed his greataxe into Samson’s back, knocking him forward. A split second later, he realized what he’d done. 

_Kaffas._ He shot an apologetic grimace at Hawke, who was watching him with a stricken expression while she sent fireballs at Samson’s men. He honestly hadn’t realized how seamless and instinctive the use of his lyrium marks had become. 

“Stand down now, Samson,” Cullen bellowed. He was blocking the strikes of Samson’s sword with his whole body behind his shield.

“Never!” Samson roared. “The Elder One will demolish you!” 

Fenris took a deep breath, then ran at Samson and swung his greataxe at the backs of Samson’s knees, but Samson swung around with his sword in a wide arc, and Fenris was forced to dodge back. 

Together, Cullen and Fenris continued to attack the Red Templar General, but it soon began to feel uncomfortably like fighting Meredith back in Kirkwall. They got a solid number of strikes on Samson’s body, and Fenris even caved in the chestplate of Samson’s armour, yet Samson continued to fight viciously through the rasping breaths of his undoubtedly broken ribs.

 _It’s the red lyrium in his blood,_ Fenris thought in frustration. They were going to need a change in tactics if they wanted to slow the cursed ex-Templar down. 

Then a cage of blinding white light appeared around Samson, rendering him immobile.

Fenris whipped around. Hawke was gripping her staff in one hand, and her other hand was thrust toward Samson as she held her light cage in place.

“Fenris,” she hissed through her clenched teeth. “Use the anchor.”

Fenris looked at his palm, then recoiled slightly. He’d been so busy trying to weaken Samson that he hadn’t noticed the snap of power flickering in his own palm. 

He looked at her. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she yelled. “Just the anchor, not your tattoos. Maybe it’ll weaken him, like your marks did to Meredith.”

Fenris nodded, then turned back to the cage and flung his flickering left palm toward the trapped General. He pressed his mind into his palm, and a burst of wild rift magic exploded from his palm and filled the cage. 

Samson let out an agonized cry, but Fenris held his hand steady until his palm started to feel empty. When he finally lowered his hand, Hawke’s cage of light disappeared, and Samson tumbled to the ground in a heap and started to cough.

Fenris glanced at Hawke in concern. She was supporting herself on her staff and her face was pale, but she waved reassuringly at him. 

Samson coughed wetly, and Fenris looked down at him. He spat a gobbet of bloody phlegm on the ground, then raised his haggard face and glowered at Fenris. “You… scum,” he rasped. “You can’t… take the Well… from Corypheus.”

Cullen booted Samson in the chest, sending him flat on his back. “You’ll insult Fenris no further,” he barked. 

Samson coughed again. “Bugger you, Knight…. Knight-Captain,” he taunted. 

Cullen’s scowl deepened, and he raised his sword. Then, to Fenris’s mild surprise, he paused. 

A moment later, Cullen sheathed his sword. “You’re coming back to Skyhold for judgment,” he announced. “ _That_ is how the Inquisition delivers justice.” He reached own and hauled Samson to his feet. 

Samson let out a wracking laugh while Cullen bound his wrists. “Like you know anything… of justice… after being trapped with the Chantry all those years,” he gasped. “I found a new purpose. Just like you. We’re the same, you know… you and me. One of us… just isn’t as pretty.” 

“Shut your mouth, you wretch,” Cullen snarled. He turned to Fenris. “My men and I will escort him back to the forward camp, with your permission.”

Fenris nodded. “Good,” he said. He gave Cullen’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Congratulations, my friend.” 

Cullen smiled. “Thank you, Fenris.” He waved to his remaining three men, and together they marched Samson back up the slope toward the temple. 

Fenris jogged over to Hawke. She was sitting in the lush overgrown grass with the others, and the mages were drinking lyrium while Varric sipped his last bottle of elfroot.

Varric offered Fenris his elfroot as he approached. “Drink?” he said. “I don’t imagine you’d want any of what these guys are having.” He nodded his head playfully at the mages.

Fenris carefully avoided Hawke’s eye. “Thank you, but you finish that,” he said to Varric. “I have more.” He selected a bottle of elfroot from his own belt and took a seat beside Hawke with no small amount of relief.

Dorian, meanwhile, was studying one of the dead Sentinels, whose hood had come off during his mortal battle. “They all have the same facial tattoos,” he remarked. “Do you suppose that means something?” 

Hawke shrugged. “Merrill said the Dalish get their tattoos when they hit adulthood. Maybe it doesn’t mean the same thing for the Sentinels, though, since the Dalish are ‘not their people’.” She said the last phrase in a deep, mocking voice. 

Varric smirked. “That Abelas guy got to you, huh?” 

She wrinkled her nose. “It seems mean, that’s all. Imagine if Merrill heard what he said. She’d be devastated.” She shot Varric a little grimace. “It’s like how the Orzammar dwarves talk about the surface dwarves. They’re rather shitty toward you lot, aren’t they?” 

Varric huffed an acknowledgement. “‘Rather shitty’. Heh. That’s what they should carve into every entrance to Orzammar.” 

Hawke looped a comforting arm around his shoulders, but Fenris frowned slightly. The gap between Orzammar and surface dwarves wasn’t the same as this apparent chasm between the Sentinels and the Dalish. At least Orzammar and surface dwarves were from the same era. The Sentinels, on the other hand…

They were thousands of years old. They had lived for _thousands_ of years. It shouldn’t be possible, but it was. The fact that some of the ancient elves had survived the war with Tevinter — no, not with Tevinter as per Abelas, but among _themselves_... 

The strangeness of the situation suddenly hit him. It was like a delayed sense of disbelief had been put on hold by the urgency of the situation, and Fenris rubbed his forehead as an odd feeling of vertigo washed over him. What did this mean? What would Briala think of this, if she were to hear it? What about Merrill, if she knew? Sera would obviously hate it, but what about… 

What about Fenris himself? He didn’t… how was he… what was he supposed to think of all this?

Then Dorian spoke again, drawing him from the confusion of his own thoughts. “It seems that being bald was the fashion for these Sentinels,” he said. “At least two of them are hairless.” He looked at Solas. “Is this why _you_ keep such a clean-shaven scalp? To connect with your ancestors, perhaps?”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “What leads you to believe my lack of hair has anything to do with these Sentinels?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular, really,” Dorian said in surprise. “It was just a question.”

Solas’s expression became slightly sardonic. “It is probably unwise to assume that those who share an appearance also share values and morals,” he said. “Should I assume that all dark-haired men with mustaches are highly learned in the magical arts? Or that all men with the tanned complexion of Tevinter are willing accomplices of slavers?”

Dorian tutted. “All right, I understand your point. I meant no offense.”

“And you caused none,” Solas said mildly. “I hope merely to educate for future reference.”

Dorian sighed in a resigned sort of way. “Altruistic of you,” he muttered, and he finished off his lyrium. 

A large black crow suddenly sailed overhead toward the amphitheatre. At the same moment, Abelas burst out of a nearby archway and sprinted toward the flora-encrusted hill. 

“Oh shit, that’s Morrigan,” Hawke exclaimed. “What is she—? ” 

“She will attempt to steal the power of the Well,” Fenris snapped. “We must stop her. Varric, can you run ahead – stall her–?”

“No problem,” Varric said. He patted Dorian’s elbow. “You up for running, Sparkler?”

Dorian sighed. “I _can_ run, if that’s what you mean. Whether I wish to is another matter entirely…” Together they ran off toward the hill, which now bore a set of stairs that seemed to be appearing simultaneously with Abelas’s rapid footsteps as he pelted toward the amphitheatre.

Fenris pulled Hawke to her feet, then supported her with one arm around her waist as he and Solas pursued the others. When they reached the top of the hill, it was to find Morrigan in her human form once more. 

She was standing in front of the Well as though to shield it from Abelas. Varric was standing between them with his hands raised in a placating manner, and Fenris couldn’t decide whether Abelas or Morrigan looked more angry. 

Abelas curled his lip in disgust. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” he sneered.

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan retorted.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” Abelas snapped. “Better it be lost then bestowed upon the undeserving.”

“Fool!” Morrigan spat. “You would let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows?”

“Stop,” Fenris commanded. He took a step toward her. “Morrigan, step back. _Now_.” 

She obeyed, but not without glaring at Fenris. “The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?”

“Exploiting this Well was never our goal,” he told her angrily. “We came to stop Samson, and it is done. We should leave.”

Her face twisted with frustration. “The moment we leave, Corypheus will send more forces to secure this place! It cannot be left unsecured!”

“And I suppose you would have me believe your motives for securing this place are entirely altruistic?” Fenris retorted sarcastically. 

Morrigan swelled with indignation, but before she could reply, Abelas spoke up. “You wish to partake of the Vir’Abelasan. But do you even know what you ask?” he said to Morrigan. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on through this.” He gestured at the water in the broad and shallow pool – water that was so clear and still that it was almost surreal. 

Then Abelas looked directly at Fenris. The anger in his face was gone, leaving only sorrow behind. “You bear the vallaslin of our time,” he said. “You know the weight of duty, and so you will understand this: those who drank from the Vir’Abelasan paid a great price, bound to the service of Mythal for eternity.”

A ripple of unease ran down Fenris’s spine. Bound to Mythal’s service? Bound, as in… 

“Mythal is real, then?” Dorian asked in surprise. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Hawke elbowed Varric. “Maker’s balls, imagine if _that_ were true? I think I might shit myself in shock if it is.”

Abelas narrowed his eyes at them, then shook his head sadly. “For a mortal to drink from the well…” He sighed. “All that we were. All that we knew: it would be lost forever.” 

Morrigan glowered at him. “And what, pray tell, do you think will happen if you should destroy it? Everything it contains _will_ be lost forevermore!”

Abelas glared back at her, but Solas stepped forward before he could speak. “There are other places, friend,” he said urgently. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

Abelas gave him an appraising look. “Elvhen such as you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Solas said firmly. “Such as I.”

Fenris shot them both a sharp look. What did that mean, exactly – ‘elvhen such as you’?

Abelas gazed at Solas without speaking, and the longer the silence stretched between them, the more the seed of suspicion in Fenris’s mind began to bloom. 

Then Abelas shook his head. “Our duty is all that remains. And that duty remains clear.” He thrust his gauntleted hand toward them in a sharp gesture.

An enormous _whomp_ of pressure flung Fenris off his feet, and he slammed to the ground on his back. His head hit the ground with a dull thud and a smattering of stars burst across his vision, and for a long, paralyzing moment, he fought to drag a breath into his lungs.

Finally he gasped and rolled onto his side. He tried to force his popping vision to focus. “Hawke,” he rasped. She’d been standing off to the side with Varric; had they been blasted too? 

“Hawke,” he called. He forced himself to sit upright, then caught sight of what Abelas was doing.

His eyes were glowing with an eerie blue light and his arms were raised, and the waters of the Vir’Abelasan were swirling and rising into the air. But as Fenris blearily watched, Morrigan shoved herself to her feet and stumbled toward Abelas.

There was a dagger in her hand, and Fenris’s heart jumped in alarm. Before he could speak, before he could move, Morrigan plunged the dagger into Abelas’s back. 

The waters of the Well froze, then fell back into the shallow pool without a sound or a splash, and Abelas fell to his knees. 

His glowing blue eyes started turning black. “ _Mythal sulevin,_ ” he rasped. Then he crumpled to the ground and fell still.

Morrigan scowled down at the dead Sentinel. “Stubborn fool,” she spat.

The bloodied dagger was dripping from her hand. Her expression was full of supercilious disdain, and in this moment, everything about her reminded Fenris forcibly of the Imperium. Morrigan’s smugness, her selfishness, her casual wielding of death and her obsession with gaining magical power… 

A powerful – and familiar – rush of dislike flooded hotly through his chest, but he pushed it aside and looked around for Hawke with growing anxiety. Then finally his eyes found her: she was on the other side of the pool helping Varric to his feet. They both looked largely uninjured, much to Fenris’s relief, and when Fenris met her eye, she smiled at him. 

Reassured, Fenris rose to his feet. Dorian was standing at the edge of the pool and studying the once-more-placid waters with a frown, and Solas was crouching beside Abelas’s body. 

He glared up at Morrigan. “How could you do this? He was defending all that was left of what once was!”

“And would have happily buried us in the process!” Morrigan snapped. “I did what had to be done to save something far more valuable!”

Fenris strode toward her and grabbed the dagger from her hand. “ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” he snarled. He threw the dagger aside and pointed accusingly at her. “You did exactly what you wanted to do: you killed this man and threw him aside to clear your path to power. This is what you had planned all along, is it not?”

Morrigan folded her arms. “You will recall that I knew naught of this well until the moment Corypheus brought it to our attention,” she said in a very clipped tone. “How exactly do you propose that I was seeking to steal something that I knew nothing of?”

Solas huffed bitterly. “Finally she admits that there is something she does not know.”

“Be silent, elf,” Morrigan snapped. 

“I do not mean the Well,” Fenris bit off. “I mean this entire mission, and your presence. _This_ has been your goal the entire time – to get your greedy hands on whatever piece of ancient power would be revealed to you.” He pointed across the pool, where a large and ornate mirror sat in pride of place. 

He glared at Morrigan. “There is your damned eluvian,” he said. “That is what you wanted. But when the existence of the Vir’Abelasan was revealed, you changed your mind and sought its superior power instead. Admit it!” 

Morrigan drew back in disbelief. “You would truly fault me for seeking knowledge that would lay your mortal enemy low?”

“That is not all you seek,” he accused. “You are just like a magister. Collecting power and dangerous magic like trophies, no matter the cost to those around you!” He gestured angrily at Abelas’s body.

Morrigan curled her lip. “I did not realize you felt so strongly for these Sentinels, Inquisitor, given how easily you have decimated their numbers,” she said. She gave him a scathing look. “I saw the carnage you left in your wake. I am not the only expert here in the dealing of death.”

Fenris took a threatening step toward her. “You will not have the power of the Well. I refuse to see it happen.”

She boldly lifted her chin. “Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of it. I have studied the oldest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you honestly tell me there’s anyone better suited?”

“No,” Fenris said. “Nobody is better suited, because this Well is cursed.”

She scoffed. “It is not cursed. You are simply afraid of what you cannot understand.”

“As _you_ should be,” Fenris retorted. “It is an unknown quantity. If you think you can control something this dangerous, then _you_ are the fool, and a delusional one at that.” He waved impatiently at Abelas’s corpse. “Did you not hear what he said? Perhaps you were too busy fantasizing about the power you would gain to listen to his words.”

Morrigan scowled at his scathing tone, but he went on regardless. “‘Bound forever to the will of Mythal’. This Well clearly enslaves whoever uses it.”

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning.” She shrugged elegantly. “Perhaps a compulsion yet remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.” 

“Spoken like an entitled human who has never been prey to another’s will,” Fenris snarled. “There is no ‘perhaps’ about it.” He jerked his head at the Vir’Abelasan. “Listen. Can you not hear the voices?”

Morrigan tilted her head but didn’t speak, and in the momentary silence, Fenris felt the creeping whisper that he’d been valiantly ignoring since arriving at the top of this hill.

He took a deep breath. “It is a geas,” he said – loudly, to drown the voices out. “Those are voices that would give commands you cannot resist.”

Morrigan’s gaze slowly turned from the pool back to Fenris’s face. For the first time since they’d arrived at the threshold of the well, she looked more calm than angry. “That would match the legends,” she admitted. “But it does not tell us what the geas entails.” She lifted her chin confidently. “I would still use the Well; however, you are right. We must be cautious.”

Fenris folded his arms. “Nobody should use the Well. Abelas was right. It should be destroyed.”

Morrigan’s jaw dropped, and Solas spoke up. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

Fenris looked at him. “No one should have access to the Well. It is unfamiliar and dangerous, and it should be destroyed.”

Solas surged to his feet. “You would destroy an ancient repository of knowledge out of fear of the unknown, of the unfamiliar?” he protested. “Such an act… I thought you knew better than that!” 

Fenris glared at him, irritated by the condescension in his words. “I would remind you that the misuse of unknown magic is not unfamiliar to me,” he growled. “It has brought me nothing but misery.”

Dorian sidled up to him. “Listen, my friend,” he said gently, “if we’re being perfectly truthful, you do have a tendency to want to break things first and to ask questions later.” 

Fenris spun toward him. “And?” he demanded. “If breaking dangerous items keeps us safe, then I do not regret it!”

Dorian grimaced. “There is something to be said for the safe study of powerful items,” he pointed out. Then he lowered his voice. “You’ll recall that this sort of safe study is what allowed us to return here from that awful blighted future.”

“I have not forgotten,” Fenris snarled.

“Good,” Dorian said pleasantly. “So there may be something to be gained from the safe study of this Well of Sorrows, too.”

Fenris stared at him in total exasperation. Had no one listened to a word Abelas had said? “It cannot be safely studied,” he insisted for the umpteenth time. “Whoever drinks from it will be enslaved!” He gave Dorian a cutting look. “I know that means nothing to you, but I promise you this: you do not want to be the one to bear those chains.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows, then took a step back. “No. No, I suppose you’re right.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows as well. “So you admit you would not want to drink from this well?”

Dorian glanced at the Vir’Abelasan, then looked at Fenris once more. “I couldn’t, even if I did. A human from Tevinter scooping up the last bits of elven knowledge?” He shook his head. “I can’t be that man.”

Fenris relaxed slightly. At least Dorian was capable of reason.

He turned to Solas. “And you. You are so fond of your ancient elven knowledge. If you think we should ransack this well for the wisdom it can provide, then perhaps _you_ should–”

“No,” Solas said. “Do not ask me again.”

Fenris recoiled slightly. Solas’s expression was utterly stonelike, and his tone had that uncharacteristic snap of command that he occasionally bore. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. “So you wish the Well to be used, yet you refuse to be the one to use it?”

Solas pursed his lips, then folded his hands behind his back. “The witch is right about only one thing: we should take the power which lies in that well.”

Fenris stared at him in confusion and growing anger. “What exactly are you proposing, then?” he demanded. He looked between Solas and Dorian. “If neither of you will use it, and I don’t trust the witch…” He gazed at Solas again with a fresh pang of concern. “Are you saying _I_ –”

Morrigan interrupted before Fenris could finish the terrible thought. “I have the best chance of making use of this wisdom, and I do not fear the compulsion,” she snapped. “Let me drink, Inquisitor!”

Fenris gave her a scathing look. “Do not take me for a fool. You will turn tail and run the moment this knowledge falls into your hands.”

Morrigan bristled. “As I told you before, your cause–”

“–meant nothing when the lure of power was dangled before your eyes,” Fenris yelled. “You abandoned us without a second’s thought inside the Temple. For all you knew, we could have perished at the hands of those Sentinels. Your only care was to stop Abelas from holding that power out of your reach!”

Solas chimed in. “You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast,” he accused Morrigan. “You cannot be trusted.”

Morrigan threw her hands up in disgust. “I do not believe this. After all the information that I have shared with you–”

“Which was incorrect,” Solas pointed out.

Fenris frowned at him. “That is not the point,” he said. He looked at Morrigan once more. “The point is that you can’t be trusted to help our cause. Not when you so flagrantly left us behind.”

Morrigan glared viciously at him for a moment. Then she took a deep breath through her nose, and when she spoke again, her tone and expression were as impassive as usual. “I will not abandon the Inquisition’s goals. You have my word,” she said calmly. “If that seems insufficient, I urge you to remember that Corypheus threatens us all – even myself. He must be stopped.” She gave Fenris a pointed look. “That, I believe, is the ultimate point of all of this.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I do not trust you,” Fenris retorted.

“A shame though that may be, your options are limited,” Morrigan said snidely. “Your companions have refused to acquire the wisdom of the Well. What will _you_ do?”

Fenris clenched his jaw. Morrigan’s yellow-eyed gaze was steady and smug, and as the tense silence stretched between them, Fenris’s temper continued to rise. 

Varric’s uncharacteristically sharp voice cut the tension. “Hawke, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Fenris looked up, and his heart stopped. 

Hawke was wading into the Vir’Abelasan. 

The water in the pool was flickering with the blue light of magic, and her cupped hands were filled with glittering water. She took a careful breath, then lifted her water-filled hands toward her parted lips.

Fenris phased into the Well and shoved her hands aside. “What are you doing?” he yelled. 

“Ending this argument, of course,” she said. “Besides, I’m rather parched. Nothing like a few thousand years’ worth of memories to quench one’s thirst, no?”

Fenris stared at her incredulously. Her words were glib and lighthearted, but he’d never seen her look so serious… 

No, that wasn’t true: he had seen her look this serious once before. 

In the blighted future, right before she sacrificed herself to save his life. 

A bitter surge of fear and anger rose in his chest and straight to his tongue. “Have you gone insane?” he shouted. “What were you thinking?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the edge of the pool. 

She faced him boldly once they were back on dry land. “Fenris, I didn’t want–”

He cut her off. “Were you thinking at all?” he yelled. “Or was this just another reckless whim that you leapt into without a second thought?” His heart was thudding in his ears, a rapid pounding of terror and rage that only seemed to surge higher with every beat of his heart. 

This had been too close a call. She’d been far too close to becoming a slave to some unknown and uncontrollable entity. What if Varric hadn’t called her name? What if Fenris had been too overextended to phase into the Well and shove her hands away?

She held out a placating hand. “Fenris–”

“You would have been enslaved,” he shouted. “Bound to another’s will. You think I could stand to see you fall to such a fate?” 

“No,” she said plaintively. “I just–”

“Then what in the Void would possess you to set foot in this blasted Well?” he bellowed. 

“I couldn’t let _you_ drink from it!” she yelled back.

He stared at her in confusion and horror. “ _Me?_ Why would you think–”

“Because you don’t want Morrigan drinking it, and Solas thinks _someone_ should drink it, and I can see the cogs turning in your head, Fenris, I can _see_ them,” she insisted. Her eyes were filling with tears as she spoke. “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Even if it was just for a second, you were thinking about taking one for the team.”

He swallowed hard. “That is not the point,” he said. “I would never allow you to–”

She took a step closer to him. “If you think I was going to let another piece of unwanted mystery magic touch your body, you’re fucking mistaken,” she hissed. A tear ran down her face, and she hastily wiped it away. “That is the last thing you want, and I won’t let it happen. I mean it. I would rather that magic take me than get anywhere near you.” 

He stared at her speechlessly, struck dumb by a sudden wave of emotion: love and anger and fear and even more love, all of it building up in his chest and surging up to clog his throat, and above it all was a roaring disbelief. Hawke thought that more unknown magic was the last thing he’d want? She thought _that_ was the thing he most dreaded? 

Of course it wasn’t. What he dreaded most was the thought of anything as terrible as this anchor happening to her, and the Well of Sorrows was even worse. If she had drunk from it and been cursed with the compulsion it held… 

“It’s me or Morrigan, Fenris,” Hawke said firmly. “That’s who this choice comes down to, because it most certainly isn’t going to be you.” She took another step closer to him. “I’ll knock you out before I let you drink from that well. Don’t think I won’t.”

He stared down at her stubborn and beautiful scowl. She was so fucking reckless and so fucking determined that he’d come to no further harm, and there was no choice. 

When forced to decide what mattered most, Fenris already knew where he stood. He’d known it since the day he’d woken up to find his hand tainted with this cursed green mark. When his back was against the wall and he was forced to choose between Hawke and anyone – or anything – else, there was truly no choice at all. 

He looked over his shoulder. “Morrigan,” he said. “Drink from the Well. It is yours.”

Morrigan’s face lit up, and without a second’s hesitation, she stepped into the Vir’Abelasan.

Hawke exhaled, then looked up at him. “Are you certain–”

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” he hissed. He cupped her face in his hands. “If you think I would allow you to be enslaved, then you truly are an idiot.”

She smiled feebly at him, and another tear slid down her cheek. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.”

His gut twisted with a heart-wrenching surge of realization. She _meant_ it. Hawke really would do any reckless, idiotic thing to keep him safe. 

_Only for you._ These joking words that she’d always said, this fond phrase that had become as much a part of their relationship as the arguments they had and the love they made in the bed they shared: these words were as reliable as her steady breath in his ears. He had always known she meant them, but always in a humorous way – not like this. He never wanted her to mean them like this.

The seriousness of her coppery eyes raised goosebumps on his arms. He drew a deep breath and stroked her face. “Hawke, if you _ever_ do anything like this again–”

The water from the pool suddenly surged into the air in a huge glittering tornado, then dropped back into the well and disappeared completely.

Fenris and Hawke whipped around. An unconscious Morrigan was lying on the tiled floor of the shallow pool.

“Oh damn,” Hawke breathed. She pulled away from Fenris and hurried into the empty pool. “Morrigan?” she said, and she shook her shoulder gently. “Morrigan, wake up. This isn’t the time or place for a beauty nap. Not that you need one, but…”

Morrigan’s eyelids flickered, then popped open. “ _Ellasin selah!_ ” she slurred. “ _Vissan… vissanallah_...” She ignored Hawke’s outstretched hand and slowly stood up, and as Solas and Dorian drew closer, Fenris noticed an oddness to her already-odd lemon-coloured eyes: almost like they were darker than before. 

She blinked, and the strange shadows in her eyes disappeared. “I… I am intact,” she said.

Dorian pulled a little face. “Well, that’s an alarming way to say ‘hurrah! I’m alive!’”

Hawke squeezed Morrigan’s arm. “How are you feeling? Do you feel, er, like yourself?”

Morrigan’s gaze drifted vacantly from her face to Fenris’s. “There is much to sift through,” she said. “But now we can–”

“Heads up,” Varric called out. He was standing at the edge of the hill facing the temple, and as everyone looked up, he pointed. “We’ve got unwanted company. Undead magister incoming.” 

_Corypheus._ Fenris didn’t bother to go look. He turned to the others. “We have to run,” he snapped. “Where–”

“The eluvian,” Morrigan said instantly. “It will take us back to Skyhold.”

Fenris frowned. “How–?” 

Hawke poked his arm. “No time for questions right now,” she said urgently. “Come on, Morrigan, get us through.” 

Morrigan turned to the eluvian and raised her arms, and the eluvian’s surface burst into a riot of shimmering colour. “Quickly,” she urged. “Let us flee–”

Fenris held up one hand. “You will go last,” he commanded. “You’ll close the mirror behind us when we’re all through.” He looked at Hawke. “Go.”

She frowned. “Not without y–”

“Go!” Fenris roared.

She recoiled and glared at him, but finally she did as he’d asked. Solas, Dorian and Varric followed her while Fenris and Morrigan took the rear, and as they reached the threshold of the mirror, Fenris glanced back over his shoulder. 

A jolt of shock squeezed his gut. A furious-looking Corypheus was _flying_ toward them – _since when has he been able to fly?_ Fenris thought incredulously – and the swirling aquatic tornado of the Vir’Abelasan had returned. It was surrounding a shimmering blue form: the form of what looked vaguely like a woman.

As Fenris watched with growing bewilderment, Corypheus lashed one claw-like hand at the water-woman, and it – she? – it waved its arms as though to ward him off. Perhaps the water-woman was helping them…?

“Fenris!” Morrigan snapped. “We must go now!”

He tore his eyes away from the strange sight and bolted through the eluvian with Morrigan. A split second later, he stumbled to his hands and knees in the storeroom in Skyhold.

The moment that his feet cleared the eluvian, Fenris _felt_ rather than heard a shriek of rage from the other side of the mirror. Then the shimmering surface of the eluvian shuddered, almost as though from a heavy impact on the other side.

Fenris shoved himself to his feet and looked around wildly, then relaxed; Morrigan was already on her feet with her hands reaching toward the eluvian, and she was whispering quietly to herself in Elvhen. 

The surface of the eluvian flared with a warm white light, then faded back to its usual inert state, leaving them in darkness. 

“It is done,” Morrigan’s satisfied voice said.

A moment later, a flickering violet fireball appeared over Dorian’s palm. He smiled at them all. “Delightfully cozy though this glorified closet may be, perhaps we should–”

“Why did you do that?” Solas barked.

Fenris whipped around in surprise, and his surprise only grew when he realized that Solas was glaring at Hawke.

Hawke seemed equally surprised by Solas’s ire. “Do what?” she asked. “Grab your bum on the way through the mirror? It was an accident, I swear.”

“No!” Solas snapped. “The Vir’Abelasan! You – you nearly–” He broke off and took a deep breath, then lifted his chin and glared imperiously at her. “I would have words with you later,” he said tersely. “In private.” 

Fenris’s shoulders tensed at Solas’s imperious tone, but before he or Hawke could respond, Solas turned on his heel and stalked toward the storeroom door. He unlocked it with an angry flick of his wrist, then strode away through Skyhold’s gardens.

The stunned silence in the storeroom stretched awkwardly for a few seconds. Then Varric gave a tiny cough. “Uh-oh,” he drawled. “Somebody’s in trouble.”

Dorian snorted. “Indeed. Looks like Hawke will be getting a dressing-down from Professor Solas this evening.”

Fenris bristled at the thought of Solas giving Hawke a dressing-down, but Hawke just wrinkled her nose. “I don’t _have_ to go talk to him, do I?” she said plaintively. “It’s not like being ordered to go to Aveline’s office. He can’t arrest me if I don’t show up.” 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Aveline arrested you back in Kirkwall?”

“No, because I always showed up,” Hawke said pertly. She tapped her chin. “Often late, mind you, but–”

“Forgive me for interrupting this comedic display,” Morrigan drawled, “but I have important work to complete. If you would all kindly vacate this room…” 

Hawke snickered. “Listen, Morrigan, if you want us to get the fuck out of your storeroom, just tell us to get the fuck out.”

Morrigan ignored her and chivvied them out the door. Once the storeroom was locked behind them, she turned to Fenris and nodded her head respectfully. “I appreciate the opportunity you have afforded me–”

“I had no choice but to let you drink, and you know it,” he interrupted. “And I still do not trust you with whatever ill-gained wisdom you found within that well.”

Morrigan’s face hardened, and she folded her arms. “You refuse to trust my judgment in this affair. Yet I possess knowledge now that _will_ be of use to you. What exactly do you propose moving forward?” She gave him a condescending once-over. “What would make the Inquisitor comfortable with the evil and all-knowing Witch of the Wilds in his exalted presence? Shall I submit myself to lock and key for your precious peace of mind?”

Her voice was positively soaked with sarcasm, and Fenris’s stretched nerves finally snapped. “Yes. Perhaps you should,” he said.

“Huh?” Hawke said.

Dorian shifted his weight and folded his arms. “Come now, Fenris…” 

Fenris ignored them and pointed angrily at Morrigan. “Seeing you under constant guard: that _would_ make me comfortable,” he said viciously. “During the rest of your time here, you should be supervised night and day by Templars.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said warningly. 

Morrigan laughed – a cold and confident sound. “I am no cowering child to submit to your ignorant demands,” she sneered. “You could not hope to keep me here by force.”

Fenris’s temper spiked even further at her arrogance, and he took an aggressive step toward her. “So you admit you are planning to flee when the urge strikes,” he snarled. “All the more reason to hold you ‘under lock and key’, as you so charmingly put it.”

“Fenris, stop,” Hawke insisted.

He spun toward her. “This does not concern you!” he hissed.

“It does!” she retorted. “The mages are the Inquisition’s allies, not their conscripts. You can’t just order one of us to be locked up. This isn’t the Circle.”

Morrigan let out another condescending little laugh. “I do not require your protection, _Champion,_ ” she said snidely. “I am entirely capable–”

“See?” he said to Hawke. He waved angrily at Morrigan. “She is loyal to no one. You are trying to aid her, and still she is arrogant and self-serving!”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “And that means she should be imprisoned?”

“No,” he yelled. “But the power she wields? The arrogance with which she wields it? _That_ is why she should be imprisoned!” 

Hawke squared her shoulders. “No,” she said.

Fenris stared at her with rising exasperation. “Hawke–”

“I said no!” she snapped. “You made me one of the leaders of the free mages. _You_ put me in charge of mage affairs. This isn’t a Circle, and you can’t treat us like one.”

Fenris dragged his hand through his hair and glared at her. “You are being completely unreasonable!”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “ _You’re_ letting your – this–” She broke off and waved vaguely at the locked storeroom. “You’re letting the stuff that happened at the temple get the better of you,” she said. “But you’re better than this, Fenris.”

 _You’re better than this._ That’s what Solas had said to him earlier, when he’d expressed the wish to destroy the Well of Sorrows. Now, to hear Hawke saying the same thing – to hear her aligning with Solas instead of him… 

An unexpected pang of hurt rose behind his sternum. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “I don’t…” 

Her frown softened. “You don’t believe what?”

“You,” he said. “You…” He trailed off and stared at her. The strange aching feeling was rising through his chest to swell in his throat, and he wasn’t entirely sure _why_ he was suddenly feeling so hurt and so… betrayed.

 _That’s_ what it was. That’s how he was feeling – as though Hawke had betrayed him. 

She took a step closer to him. “Fenris, what’s the matter?” She reached out to stroke his arm.

He shirked away from her outstretched hand.

Her face went slack with distress. Varric cleared his throat. “Hey Sparkler, what say we go crack open a bottle of wine at the Herald’s Rest?” he said casually. “Fenris owes you one, anyway.”

Dorian tore his wide-eyed gaze away from Fenris and Hawke. “Varric, that may be the finest idea you have ever had in all your life,” he proclaimed. “Morrigan, I insist that you join us.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The offer is… interesting, Pavus. But I shall have to decline. I should see to my son.”

“Oh, do bring him along!” Dorian said cheerfully. “How can you expect a boy to thrive if you don’t expose him to the most colourful parts of society?” 

Morrigan wrinkled her nose, and Varric chuckled as Dorian ushered them away, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone. 

Hawke looked up at him. “Fenris, what’s going on? Why are you angry at me?”

“You betrayed me,” he said.

Her anxious expression twisted even further. “What are you talking about? I would never betray you!”

“You did,” he insisted. “You… you spoke against me.” Then he shook his head slightly. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the problem. 

Hawke frowned and sidled closer to him. “You mean about Morrigan? That’s not betraying you. We disagree all the time, and it’s never bothered you this much before.” She took his hand. “Come on, tell me what’s really wrong.”

He swallowed hard. She was right; it wasn’t the disagreement with Morrigan that was bothering him. At least their disagreement about Morrigan was a discussion. At least he and Hawke were having a _conversation_ about that. 

What they hadn’t discussed was her choice to step into the Vir’Abelasan.

He gazed at her painfully. “You stepped into the Well of Sorrows without consulting me,” he said. “You knew I wouldn't want you to, and you did it anyway.”

She wilted and squeezed his hand in both of hers. “Fenris, I told you why I–”

He pulled his hand away from her. The more he thought about it, the more he was tortured by the horrifying _what-if_ s of the situation, and the more angry and hurt he felt. 

He swallowed the swelling lump in his throat and glared at her. “I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me,” he said sharply. “Did I not say that?”

She grabbed his hand again. “It wasn’t a sacrifice!” she insisted. “It’s just–”

“Slavery?” he interjected. “It is just slavery. That is what you were about to say?”

“No!” she snapped. “I just – I didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already are!”

“And you think that seeing you become a slave to some unknown entity would not make me suffer?” he shouted. 

“It didn’t happen!” she yelled back. “I didn’t drink from the Well! You don’t need to be mad!”

“But you would have!” he retorted. “You made a choice for both of us without consulting me.” He gazed at her accusingly. “We are partners, Hawke. We are in this together. Is that not what you have always told me?”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “Fenris, please, just listen–”

He shook his head and backed away from her. Even as he backed away, the loudest part of his mind was yelling at him to give this up, to give in and let Hawke’s tight embrace wipe the hurt away like it always did. 

But if Fenris forgave her before she realized what she’d done wrong, she might do the same thing again. She might ignore his wishes and make another life-changing decision that would affect both of their lives. 

He and Hawke were partners. Their major life decisions were supposed to be _equal._ And they always had been, before now. 

He took a deep breath of his own. “I need to speak to Leliana,” he said. “She will be shocked to see us back before the rest of the army. She should know what transpired in the Arbour Wilds.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hawke said desperately. 

He dropped her shining amber gaze. He couldn’t bear to look at her beloved face right now. “No,” he said. “I… I need a minute alone.” 

She inhaled sharply – a tiny catch of an inhale, almost as though Fenris physically hurt her, and he almost caved in and pulled her close. But he didn’t. 

Instead, he did something he hadn’t done in years – not since he and Hawke had first become lovers.

Fenris turned and walked away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: to be clear, I personally like Morrigan very much, from what I know of her. I haven’t played DA:O yet ~~as I’ve said before so many times you’re probably getting sick of hearing me say it~~ , but from quickly perusing her DA:O banter, I get the impression she’s going to be one of my favourite companions. Fen’s opinion of her, on the other hand… T^T
> 
> Also: RIP Abelas. I love that cranky old fucker. [sobbing in Elvhen] Shameless self-promotion, I've written some [Abelas/Lavellan fic if anyone is interested in some smutty angst...](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115607)
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to stop by and say hello!


	40. Mouth Full

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

By the time Fenris was halfway to the Great Hall, he regretted walking away from Hawke. Before he had the chance to turn around and go back, however, Leliana hurried down the steps to meet him in the courtyard.

“Fenris,” she said with a perfunctory nod of greeting. “Flissa mentioned that she spotted you and Hawke in the gardens. How–? What happened in the Arbour Wilds? Is anyone else with you?”

Her tone and expression were calm as always, but her face was paler than usual, and Fenris resigned himself to reporting to Leliana like he’d planned. An hour later, when he’d finished telling Leliana what had happened in the Arbour Wilds and quickly changed out of his armour, he made his way toward Great Hall’s exit, thinking perhaps that Hawke had gone to the tavern to unwind with the others. 

As he neared the rotunda, however, he heard Solas’s raised voice. “Do you not realize what you had nearly done? You would have given yourself into the service of an ancient elvhen god!” 

Hawke’s reply was quiet and indistinct, but as Fenris drew closer, he could hear her words. “... don’t _want_ to be a magical slave, obviously. But if it was down to me or Fenris, I’d rather it be me.” 

His gut twisted painfully at her words. He peered into the rotunda. Hawke was sitting on Solas’s desk, and Solas was pacing angrily in front of her.

“It should not have come down to that,” Solas snapped. “I warned you not to drink from it.” 

Fenris stepped into the rotunda. “You didn’t, in fact,” he said. “You said that someone ought to drink it, and _you_ refused.”

Hawke whipped around at the sound of his voice. A huge relieved smile lit her face, and Fenris instantly felt guilty for leaving her side. 

He joined her at the desk as she turned back to Solas. “Fenris is right,” she said. “And you definitely didn’t want Morrigan to drink, so what were we supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to use a modicum of sense, not go diving headfirst into a binding contract with a powerful ancient god!” Solas exclaimed.

This, of course, was the problem Fenris had as well. He leaned toward Hawke and lowered his voice. “I need to speak with you alone,” he muttered.

She wilted slightly, then waved a hand at Solas. “Get in line. Apparently everyone wants to give me a piece of their mind today.” She looked at Solas once more. “Tell me something, Solas. Why are you so mad about this? One minute you’re telling me the elven gods weren’t real, and the next minute you’re saying we have to be cautious about pissing them off. Which is it?” She tilted her head coyly. “My brain is too small to reconcile it, you see. I need you to break it down for me like the fool that I am.” 

“I don’t believe they were gods, but I believe that they existed,” Solas said angrily. “Something existed to start the legends. If not gods, then mages or spirits, or something we have never seen. And you nearly gave up a part of yourself to one of them!” 

Hawke tilted her head. “Aw, Solas. Are you mad because you care?”

Solas glared at her, then took a deep and measured breath. “That is a part of it, yes. You have been a friend, and I would not see a friend shackled in such a manner, whether that friend is spirit or human.”

Hawke’s playful expression sobered. ”All right, that’s fair,” she said softly. “But… Solas, some things are more important than being unshackled.”

“There is nothing that matters more than freedom,” he said forcefully.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’m afraid I disagree,” she said, and she leaned against Fenris’s side. 

Fenris swallowed hard. There was once a time when he would have agreed with Solas, when he would have agreed that there was nothing of greater value than being free. But now, looking down at Hawke’s beautiful and stubborn face… 

Solas sighed. He suddenly looked exhausted. “Hawke, you are… very young.” He rubbed his face tiredly.

Hawke smirked. “Oh come on, you’re what, maybe ten years older than me? Either that, or that elfroot sunblock potion you use is ridiculously effective.” She gave him a charming smile.

Fenris, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes at Solas. This wasn’t the first time Solas had made comments like this: comments implying that he was older than he seemed. As Fenris studied the sadness in Solas’s face, the suspicions he’d had in the Arbour Wilds returned to the forefront of his mind.

Solas gazed sadly at Hawke for another moment, then straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “In any case, it is fortunate that Fenris prevented you from tying yourself to a… difficult fate. I would ask that you not take such a risk again.”

Fenris frowned. He felt inexplicably annoyed at Solas asking this of her, even though it’s exactly what he planned to ask her himself. 

Hawke shrugged affably. “Well, let’s hope there won’t be any more magical ancient wells to deal with. Otherwise I might have to practice my swan dive.”

Solas frowned, and Fenris tensed. “Hawke–”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” she protested. She stroked Fenris’s arm soothingly. “Maker’s balls, so tense, the both of you.”

Fenris pursed his lips, then placed a hand at the center of her back. “Come. Let’s take our leave,” he murmured. She’d spent enough time hearing out Solas’s concerns; it was Fenris’s turn now.

She hopped off of the desk, then scurried over to Solas and gave him a hug. “Don’t worry so much. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.” She winked at him, then returned to Fenris and took his outstretched hand. 

Fenris glanced at Solas as he led Hawke out of the rotunda, but Solas’s sad-eyed gaze was on one of his remaining blank walls. 

Fenris turned away and put his suspicions aside for now. He would address them later, but his need to speak with Hawke was far more pressing. 

He was quiet as they walked toward their quarters. Hawke, on the other hand, talked the whole time. “Since we’re back at Skyhold so early, we should take advantage of the castle being this empty. I personally think you should choreograph some dance routines.” She shot him a sly look.

Fenris gave her a feeble smile. “I will never understand your attachment to that particular joke.”

“It was one of your first jokes! Of course I’m attached to it,” she exclaimed. She looked around the Great Hall appreciatively as they approached the door to their quarters. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a shame that we don’t host more huge parties. I know you hate them,” she said soothingly, “but the Great Hall would be fantastic for dancing.” She perked up suddenly and snapped her fingers. “We should just have everyone in the tavern bring the revelry in here sometime! There’s far more space here. More tables to dance on, more chandeliers to swing from…”

Fenris unlocked the door to their quarters, and she continued to talk as they made their way up the stairs. “You know, you’re right about Dorian enjoying that terrible dwarven ale. He likes to act so classy about his Vint wine and all that, but his taste in drinks is endearingly common.”

Fenris opened the door to their bedroom and stepped aside to let her pass, then followed her up the final flight of stairs while she chattered on. “Even Sera refuses to drink that one particular brand of dwarven ale, and she’s as common as they come. In the best way, of course,” she added. “But even _she_ has standards.” She chuckled, then met his eye.

When he didn’t speak, Hawke dropped her gaze to her feet. “So, er… do you want to jump right into yelling at me, or do you want a little warm-up line first…?”

Fenris stepped close to her and tipped her chin up. “You frightened me,” he told her. 

Her anxious expression slackened slightly with surprise. Fenris knew she’d been expecting him to shout at her, but Solas’s anger had somehow lessened Fenris’s own, leaving him with something far worse instead.

_Fear._ The thought of Hawke being enslaved by some ineffable figure of power… it inspired nothing short of a chilling, heart-stopping fear.

She gazed desperately up at him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… Fenris, I did what I had to do. Or, well, I was ready to. I just– no, let me finish,” she begged as he opened his mouth to protest. “Magic has made you miserable. The lyrium tattoos, the anchor, finding out that you’re… that you _were_ a mage: all of it, it’s made you miserable, and I… I couldn’t stand the thought of more magic making you even more miserable.” She stepped closer to him and curled her fingers against his abdomen. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And you thought that your becoming a slave would make me happy?” he said sardonically.

She wilted. “No. You know that’s not what I mean. I just meant–”

He cradled her cheek. “Seeing you suffer the way that I have: _that_ would make me miserable. The very thought of it chills my soul. I don’t understand why you think I would agree to that.”

She swallowed hard. “I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I didn’t want you to see me doing it.”

He stared at her for a moment, then took a small step back. “That disturbs me, Hawke. You… you purposely made that choice without me. You didn’t even try to talk to me first–”

“Because I knew this was how you would react!” she protested.

“That is not an excuse!” he snapped. “We’re partners! I told you before: we walk this life together or not at all. Or am I wrong in that?” His anger was returning in force, an ugly mask for the fear that continued to curdle in his belly, and as much as he wanted to talk calmly about this, the thought of what she’d almost done – what she _would_ have done if he hadn’t stopped her– 

“Of course we’re partners,” she said loudly. “But I–”

He cut her off. “You should have spoken to me first. And if you knew I would hate your decision this much, you should not have done it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you’re saying that if I told you I hated something you were going to do, even if it was important to you, you wouldn’t do it because we’re partners?”

“Yes,” he bit off. “That is correct.”

Her expression grew even more disbelieving. “Like what?”

“Like not placing Morrigan under the supervision of Templars,” he said. He waved a dismissive hand. “The witch is your problem now. I place the joy of that duty in your hands.”

Her face went slack with surprise, and Fenris suddenly realized why this whole concept was so strange to her: Hawke had always done things that Fenris didn’t like. Especially in the first year that they’d known each other, she had constantly made decisions he disagreed with. Her contrary actions were never intended to anger him, and she’d always apologized and charmed and cajoled him out of his rage, but still she’d done as she saw fit. 

And _this_ , he realized, was why she was so incredulous now: Fenris had never really demanded that she modify her course of action. He’d expressed his displeasure, and he’d been vociferous in his disapproval at times, but he’d never truly insisted that she not do something he disliked. 

No, that wasn’t true. There was one time when he’d demanded that she not do something he disliked: he’d asked her to not to come along while he went to the Conclave. Nearly a year later, they were still living with the consequences of that moment, and he was still living with this cursed green mark on his hand. And Fenris knew that in the depths of her heart, Hawke was still carrying the blame for letting him go to the Conclave alone.

He met her wide-eyed gaze. He knew this was what she was thinking. But things were different now. They were in the midst of a war, and Fenris was the one in charge of all of these people, all of these damned _lives_ , and… and he couldn’t focus on any of that if he couldn’t trust Hawke to keep herself safe. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You should have spoken to me,” he said. “I would have forbidden this – this foolish act. And I wouldn’t be left with these horrific thoughts of my _wife_ falling into the clutches of some unfathomable ancient creature.”

She shook her head. “This is so… Look, I was just trying to keep you safe! I promised I would keep you–”

“Promise me this,” he interrupted. “Promise you won’t make such a sacrifice again.”

She gazed at him in exasperation. “Fenris…”

“Promise me, Hawke,” he insisted. “Promise you won’t–”

“I can’t do that!” she burst out. “Fenris, I’m not sorry I went into the Well. I would do it again if I had to. And stop acting like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my place,” she accused. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself to save me, because you know you would. You’ve fucking tried to and I hate it too, and–” 

A sudden sob burst from her chest, and Fenris’s anger began to crumble at the sound of her distress. But Hawke wasn’t finished speaking yet. 

“I’m not losing you, all right?” she said fiercely. “I don’t care what it takes, I’m not–” She sobbed again and impatiently scrubbed the tears from her face. “No more bad things are going to happen to you. I won’t fucking let them…” 

He pulled her into his arms, and for a long, terrible moment, they simply stood in the middle of their bedroom clinging to each other as Hawke’s tears soaked into his tunic. 

He slowly stroked the back of her neck. “You will not lose me, Hawke,” he murmured. “I will always be by your side.”

She hiccuped. “You c-can’t promise that.”

“I already have,” he said softly. “Don’t you recall?” He pulled away from her slightly, and when she lifted her face to look at him, he cupped her salt-stained cheek. “I told you before. Everything I value is rooted right here between us. You will not lose me. I swear it.”

“Then why did you walk away from me?” she cried.

He swallowed a hot rush of guilt. “I know,” he said. “I’m–”

“I hate when you walk away,” she sobbed. “I didn’t think you would ever d-do that again…” 

Her hurt was bringing tears to the backs of Fenris’s eyes, but he forced them not to fall. “I wish I hadn’t. Rynne, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He carefully smoothed the tears away from her cheeks. “I am sorry. I should not have left you the way I did. It won’t happen again.” 

She sobbed again, then took a tremulous breath and nodded. Fenris tucked her head close against his neck until her tears eased and the rise and fall of her chest was smooth and even.

She released a long, heavy sigh and slid her hands up inside the back of his shirt, and Fenris savoured the warmth of her hands on his skin as she embraced him. A long, silent moment later, he leaned away slightly to look at her.

Her eyes were red with tears, and her expression was serious and sad. When he gazed at her without speaking, a tiny smile lifted the corner of her lips. 

“I’m all hideous from snivelling, I know,” she said. “Don’t look at me. Even Samson’s had better days.” She laughed.

Fenris didn’t laugh. He stroked her cheek instead. “I need you to promise you will not do anything so drastic again without speaking to me first,” he said quietly.

She dropped her gaze, but Fenris didn’t give up. He tipped her chin up until she looked him in the eye again. 

“Swear this to me,” he murmured. “We discuss these risks first. Anything so… life-changing. Anything so dire that it affects us both to this terrible degree: we discuss it first. We walk these paths together or not at all.”

At long last, she sighed and nodded. “All right. Fine. I swear,” she whispered.

Finally, for the first time all day, Fenris relaxed. “Good,” he said. “I could not bear this life alone, Hawke. It is ash unless we move through it together.”

She offered him a tremulous smile. “You smooth talker.”

He smiled faintly at her, then kissed her forehead. As he was pulling away, she tipped her chin up and brushed her lips lightly to his. 

Fenris easily returned her kiss, savouring the plumpness of her lips as she pressed them to his. When she deepened the kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip and pulling him closer with her firm hands on the bare skin of his back, he sank into the depth of her touch for a moment before leaning back to look at her. 

“Are you certain you’re in the mood?” he murmured. Her face still bore the signs of her distress, and although the press of her hips to his was suggestive, the slow stroke of her palms on his back was more tender than heated.

She nodded. “I want to be close to you.” She took a step away from him and started unbuckling his belt.

Fenris watched fondly as she pulled his belt off. She pushed up the edge of his tunic, and Fenris obligingly helped her to tug it over his head. She walked him back toward the bed, sliding her hands along his bare abdomen as she did, and when he was lying back on the pillows, she peeled his leggings down, leaving him bare. 

While Hawke was stripping him, Fenris watched her face. Her expression was content but serious, and it was quite a departure from the heated smirk that usually lifted her lips when she was pulling off his clothes. Even her removal of his clothing was more… purposeful than normal. Usually her stripping was either sloppy and rushed or _very_ sinuous and slow, but the way she was taking off his clothes now, in this purposeful and careful way: it was unusual for Hawke. Particularly intentional, somehow, even beyond her obvious amorous aims. 

She unbuttoned her shirt and threw it aside, then started unlacing her bustier. But just as the bustier was about to come off, she met his eye and paused. 

She raised one eyebrow. “You look strange. Am I doing something wrong?” Her eyes widened. “Are _you_ not in the mood?” Her gaze darted to his cock, which was standing at half-mast.

“No, I’m – it’s not that,” he assured her. “I’m just…” He paused and studied her for a moment before speaking again. “There is something on your mind. I can see it.”

She blinked at him, then let out a little laugh and continued untying her bustier. “I suppose. I just…” She fell silent as she dropped her bustier carelessly on the floor, then slid off of the bed and pushed her breeches and smallclothes off.

She turned to face him. “I have a mouth full of shit,” she said.

He tore his eyes from her bare body back to her face. “What?” he said flatly.

A brief grin lifted her lips. “I just mean… well, you have all your nice smooth words, and I don’t have any of that. I can talk shit, and I can bullshit, but I don’t have anything… you know, _nice_.” She shrugged. “I might have helped you learn to read, but you’re the one who has all the words,” she said seriously. “The things you say to me sometimes, Fenris, I just…” She pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes, and Fenris waited patiently until she met his gaze once more. 

His belly did a giddy little flip: her tearstained face was a lovely picture of pure affection. “You’ve always been the wordsmith,” she said. “I don’t have sonnets for you, but I have this.” She struck an alluring pose, then let out a little laugh and ran her hand slowly along the length of her nude torso. “I can give you this.”

His heart thumped painfully. Hawke was being playful and coy, but Fenris knew her well, and he knew she wouldn’t joke about this if it wasn’t how she really felt, at least to some degree. 

It was ludicrous, though. Fenris didn’t need Hawke to give him her body. He didn’t need to lie with her to know how much she loved him. Her ill-advised actions in the Arbour Wilds were the most terrible and obvious demonstration of her love.

But he also knew his wife, and he knew what the meeting of their bodies really meant to her. As salacious and lewd as Hawke was in public, the love she and Fenris made had always been more than mere sex. Even from their very first time together, Hawke had poured her affection into her palms and the press of her lips, stroking his skin and treating him with an uninhibited tenderness that was more healing than the cool green magic that she used to knit his wounds.

On that fateful first night together, Fenris was too conflicted and scarred to accept the love that her bare body had implied. But now, so many years later, Fenris understood Hawke’s intentions, and he was more than happy to accept what she was trying to give. 

He sat up on the bed and reached for her hand, pulling her close until she was straddling his hips. “You’re paying for my words with your body, then?” he said playfully. 

Her grin was instantaneous, and it chased away the remaining hint of melancholy in her face, exactly as he’d hoped it would. Even so, her answer was serious. “Nothing nearly so crass,” she replied. “I just… I love you, and I want you to know it, but my mouth is full of shit, all right?”

He pulled her closer on his lap and tilted his chin up to meet her lips. “Perhaps you can start by no longer saying that your mouth is full of shit,” he murmured.

She laughed and cradled his face in her hands. “I’ll fill it with something else, then,” she whispered, and she kissed him.

Fenris smiled despite her kiss, and she smiled as well until they were laughing against each other’s lips. It was a giddy and intimate sort of laugh, the kind that lovers share over something so inane and particular that no one else would ever laugh about, and Fenris savoured this moment of mirth for its very nature: the secrecy of it and the closeness it implied, and the sheer simple pleasure of having someone so dear that he could enjoy this sort of mirth. 

Hawke kissed him again, her slender fingers stroking his jaw and his neck as her lips glided over his own, and Fenris followed the cues of her body as she arched her back and tilted her hips down to meet the hardness of his shaft. She ran her fingers over his nipples until the air stalled in his lungs, then shifted lower on his body and pushed him down to lie on his back, and then she was kneeling between his legs and running her beloved hands along the insides of his tattooed thighs… 

He gasped and lifted his hips. Her tongue was trailing up along his shaft, and the warmth of her palm was cupping his balls. “Hawke,” he begged.

“All right, all right. So impatient,” she purred. Then she took his length into her mouth. 

He groaned and stretched languorously beneath her. The heat of her throat was a sweet contrast with the coolness of their sheets beneath his back. Her hands were sliding smoothly along his inner thighs, and Fenris closed his eyes and melted happily into her loving ministrations, savouring the caress of her caring hands as much as the rapturous pressure of her lips around his cock.

She suckled him sweetly, pulling his pleasure closer with every firm stroke of her mouth, and it wasn’t long before Fenris’s climax announced itself with a shivering rush of ecstasy that he groaned into the back of his fist. Hawke continued to take him deep, suckling his shaft until he reached down and stroked her cheekbone with his knuckles in a wordless plea to stop. 

She lifted her face from between his legs, then crawled up the bed to lie beside him. When Fenris opened his eyes and looked at her, it was to find her smiling at him with that soft and tender smile that he so adored.

Her smile broadened as he met her eye. “I love you,” she whispered.

He rolled onto his side to face her. “I love you as well,” he said. He gathered her close and slowly slipped his thigh between her legs. 

Her eyelids fluttered as his knee slid higher. When he pressed his leg against the telltale heat between her legs, her lips dropped open on a gasp. 

Fenris shifted closer still and kissed her. She curled her fingers in his hair and delved her tongue into his mouth, and he could taste the faint bitterness of his seed at the back of her tongue, but he savoured it for exactly what it was: a remnant of his own pleasure, the pleasure she’d given him so freely to show him how she felt. 

And now, as Hawke whimpered into his mouth and pressed herself against the rigid line of his thigh, Fenris wanted to show her the same affection in kind. 

He reluctantly peeled himself away from her lips and rolled her onto her back before kissing her again, but this time along the line of her neck just the way she liked. She drew a shaky breath and craned her neck to the side, and by the time Fenris’s questing mouth had trailed its way down her throat to her collarbone, she was arching her spine and spreading her legs. 

He slid one hand along the inside of her parted thigh. Her muscles were taut beneath his palm, but the skin of her breast was soft and smooth beneath his lips, and Fenris enjoyed the velvet of her skin beneath his tongue before tugging her nipple between his lips. When Hawke was straining toward him and whimpering with want, he slid down on the bed and brushed his lips along the tense line of her inner thigh. 

He placed a soft kiss on the fragrant wetness between her legs, and she gasped and twisted her hips. “Fenris, please…!” 

He kissed her again, then once more, and when she moaned his name a second time, he lifted his face to smirk at her. “Now who is the impatient one?”

“I’m always the impatient one where you’re concerned,” Hawke retorted. 

He smiled. “Fair enough,” he said, and he slicked his tongue between her legs. 

She twisted her fingers into the pillows and lifted her hips, and Fenris held her thighs steady as he tasted her. He was thorough and careful, running his tongue along the length of her cleft and taking her in until he could taste her at the back of his tongue, just the way she’d taken him. Soon his mouth was filled with her heady taste, and her primal scent was filling his lungs, and as Fenris teased the delicate bud between her legs, she tensed and shivered beneath his lips before crying her pleasure to the canopy of their bed. 

He continued to taste her, slipping his tongue gently along the plump folds of her flesh until she reached down and stroked his jaw to coax him to stop. He lifted his face and met her gaze, and as he basked in the lucid amber heat of her eyes, it struck him that this pose was an exact mirror of how they’d been positioned just moments ago, with Hawke stretched between his parted thighs as she brought him to his peak.

This equalness, Fenris thought, was exactly the point of all of this. _This_ was the point of the life they shared and these trials they walked and the countless times they fell together in this tangle of hands and tongues and tenderness. He and Hawke were here together, sharing this life side-by-side and moving as one through every mess that was placed along their path, and Fenris refused to have it any other way. 

He crawled up the bed to join her, satisfied by the way her brilliant copper gaze shifted from lazy pleasure to a fresh flare of excitement. When Fenris roughly rolled her onto her belly, she gasped in surprise. 

She was flat on her belly on the bed, and he stared lovingly at the expanse of her tattooed back for a moment before pushing her legs apart. Her breathing grew sharp and desperate as she lifted her bottom to accommodate the angle, and when Fenris pumped his hardening cock against her slick cleft, she jerked and pressed her ass back toward him. 

“F-Fenris,” she stammered. “I – _ah!_ Fuck me, please!”

_I need you,_ he thought feverishly. He lowered himself over her until his chest was pressed to her back, pressed as close as he could possibly be. His shaft slid smoothly between her legs, and it wasn’t long before her smoothness and warmth brought him to full attention once more. 

“Fenris,” she mewled. She could hardly move beneath his weight, but she arched her back nonetheless, and Fenris indulged himself by tasting the tattoo that curled across her left shoulder before brushing his lips over her ear. 

“Do you want me, Hawke?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said loudly. “Yes, of course I do.”

He slowly slid his cock along her folds. A desperate sob burst from her lips, and she tried to twist beneath him, but she was hindered by his body trapping her against the bed. 

“Fenris!” she whined. 

He pumped his hips again in a slow and torturous grind until she burst out another needy sob. “Fenris, _please,_ I need you!”

That was what he’d wanted to hear. With her desperate and needy words ringing in his ears, he shifted his hips and fed himself into her slick and waiting heat. 

She mewled and scraped the mattress with her nails as he sheathed himself inside of her. Once he was fully buried inside of her, he lowered his lips to her ear once more. “Am I close enough to you now?” he whispered. 

To Fenris’s surprise, she shook her head. “No,” she panted. “There’s no such thing as being too close to you.” 

A rush of emotion squeezed his thrumming heart. He felt exactly the same. Hawke was ensnared in his arms, pressed so tightly to his chest that he could feel her every desperate breath and every bead of sweat that was collecting between them, and still it wasn’t enough. 

Without releasing her from his embrace, he pumped his hips. Hawke jerked and gasped, and Fenris slid into her in a slow and steady rhythm until their breathing was ragged and rough. 

He panted against her ink-clad shoulder before pressing his mouth to her ear once more. “I feel the same,” he said. “I will tear my way through a thousand battles as long as the promise of your arms awaits me at the end.”

She sobbed out a little laugh. “See, you and your fucking gorgeous words – _ah!_ ” She broke off with a gasp as he thrust into her hard. 

“I am not finished with these words,” he rasped. “Rynne, I promise you this: only a lifetime at your side will satisfy me. There is nothing in this world or the Fade that will tear me from your grasp.”

She sobbed again and scrabbled in the sheets until she found his hand. “You promise?” she whimpered. 

“I do,” he whispered. Then he continued to fuck her, giving himself to her in a hard rhythm that he knew she particularly liked. 

Sure enough, her eager breaths grew sharper and more broken, and Fenris carefully shifted his hips until she cried out and dug her nails into his arm. “”F-fuck,” she moaned. “I – oh _Maker_...” 

He tilted and rolled his hips, and a breathless minute later, she shuddered and cried out in ecstasy. Encouraged and riled by her pleasure, Fenris fucked her faster as his own climax bloomed, lifting its way from his cock to his belly and up past his pounding heart until it burst from his mouth in a guttural groan. 

He pressed his lips to her back to muffle himself. Her golden skin was scented with an intoxicating mixture of heat and sweat and the sweetness of their sheets, and Fenris hungrily licked her tattooed skin as his rapture climbed through his limbs. 

When the last pulses of pleasure eased away, leaving him limp and satisfyingly spent, he carefully withdrew from her. 

She gripped his wrist. “Stay,” she pleaded. 

He kissed her shoulder blade. “I plan to,” he murmured. He and Hawke might be spent from their exertions, but Fenris couldn’t bear to move away from her warm and pliant body. 

He tried to shift slightly so his weight wasn’t resting on her, but she gripped his wrist even harder. “Fenris, don’t go,” she insisted.

“I’m not,” he said. “I am only trying not to crush you.” 

She rolled over to face him and twined her legs with his. “I would happily be crushed by you,” she said. “It would make a lovely epitaph. ‘Rynne Hawke, squished by handsome elven husband.’” She smiled cheekily. “I think it would make a good story.”

Fenris huffed. “Fortunate, then, that you are not the writer among our friends.”

She laughed. “Who says I’m not? Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all this time in the mage tower: writing a book about all the times you fucked me and nearly crushed me afterwards.” She tapped his chin playfully. “Maybe I’ll name it after something of Varric’s. _Hard in Skyhold: Fuck Harder–_ ”

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” he complained, and Hawke burst out laughing. 

As always, her laughter was loud and bright and uninhibited. It filled his chest with lightness and hope and a dizzying rush of love, and he couldn’t help but smile and pinch her waist. 

She squealed and laughed even more raucously, and Fenris finally laughed as well. “You’re an idiot,” he said fondly. 

She hiccupped with mirth and ran her hand through his hair. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.”

Her smile was warm and broad, and Fenris admired the unmitigated happiness in her face. But to his own dismay, her words plucked a fresh note of worry in his heart. 

_Only for you, Fenris._ These words carried a weight now that they never used to before. Hawke had sworn not to do anything rash again without consulting him first, and Fenris wanted to believe her – no, he _did_ believe her. But these words were tainted now, coloured with the ugly _what-ifs_ of what had nearly transpired in the Arbour Wilds. 

And along with the reminder of this afternoon’s nearly-disastrous events came his worries about what would happen next. 

They’d successfully foiled Corypheus’s plan yet again. But how many more times would they have to chase the cursed magister down before this ordeal was done? How many more times would they be presented with these terrible opportunities for danger – opportunities where Hawke would be bound and determined to keep Fenris safe, just as he was determined to shelter her?

How long would it be before they could have the peace they’d wanted for so long?

“Fenris?” 

He looked at Hawke. Her face was still content, but her expression was soft with concern. “Where did you go?” she murmured.

He tightened his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m right here.” 

She smoothed her thumb over his eyebrow. “You’re worried.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t want to think of anything else right now…”

“... but you can’t help it,” she murmured, and he shook his head. 

She was quiet for a moment, and Fenris waited silently as she rubbed his earlobe between her fingers. Finally she lifted her eyes to his face. “Can I help?”

He swallowed hard. Her face was businesslike, but her legs were still tangled with his, and… _kaffas_ , he couldn’t imagine doing this without her. He couldn’t imagine trying to cope with all of these burdens without her.

He tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. “You already are,” he said. “This is where I want to be. Keep me here, Hawke.”

She smiled. “Is that an order from the Inquisitor?”

He gave her a chiding smirk. “No. It is a suggestion from your husband.” 

“Even better,” she whispered, and she snuggled closer still. 

He held her close and pressed his nose to her sandalwood-scented hair. Even without the presence of the Inquisition’ army, there were matters that needed to be deal with now that they’d returned: the misbegotten knowledge in Morrigan’s possession, and the suspicions that Fenris now harboured about Solas, and what in the Maker’s name was going to happen next in this seemingly never-ending quest to destroy Corypheus once and for all.

But Hawke was pressed against him, fragrant and warm from the love they’d just shared. Her eyes were closed and there was a tiny smile on her raspberry-red lips, and as Fenris breathed in the perfume of her hair, he allowed his busy mind to drift. 

For once, Skyhold was quiet and still, and Fenris had done all that he could do to avert another major disaster. 

And for now, he would savour this moment of peace in Hawke’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to be on track with another chapter next week, but I have to play the game some more, so we'll see what happens! Cross your fingers for me! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to swing by and say hello! xoxo


	41. Abelas'alas'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very conversation-heavy chapter here. And a hint of smut. ~~Bloody Rynne and her bloody libido.~~

Much later that night, Fenris lay gazing up at the canopy of the bed while Hawke’s slow and sleepy breaths ghosted across his chest. He’d spent the past couple of hours drifting in and out of a restless sort of slumber. Hazy, unfocused anxieties kept drifting across his mind like half-dead leaves on a sluggish autumn river, and he couldn’t quite tell if they were fragments of dreams, or pieces of his waking worries that refused to depart his half-conscious mind. 

One concern in particular kept rising to the front of his thoughts. And unlike his worries about Corypheus and the future and the anchor on his hand, this concern was one that he could address right now. 

He carefully disentangled himself from Hawke’s arm. She murmured a sleepy protest, and he kissed her temple to soothe her. “I’m going to the kitchen,” he whispered. “Should I bring you anything?”

She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. “Next time,” she mumbled. A moment later, she was fast asleep again. 

He tucked the blankets around her naked body, then tiptoed over to the writing desk and scrawled a quick note to tell her where he’d gone in case she awoke more thoroughly. Then he slipped down the stairs and into the Great Hall.

As expected, the hall was empty but for a pair of guards and lit only by the torches on the walls – and by the spill of light emanating from the rotunda. 

Fenris padded silently to the rotunda, then paused in the doorway. Solas was exactly where Fenris had known he would be: standing tall on his scaffolding with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a jar of paint in one hand. 

He was painting a new mural on the freshly-plastered wall, and Fenris quietly studied the charcoal outline of the scene. Then, slowly, he entered the rotunda and made his way toward the elven mage. 

Solas glanced at him briefly. “Fenris,” he said softly. “I’m surprised to find you awake.”

Fenris nodded a brief acknowledgement, then leaned against the nearest doorjamb and folded his arms. He watched Solas very carefully as he asked the question that had been nagging at his mind all afternoon and night.

“Are you a Sentinel?” Fenris said. 

Solas paused in his painting, then shot Fenris a thoughtful glance. “I am not a Sentinel, no. But I am curious to know what led you to ask such a question.” He dipped his brush in the jar once more, then continued to paint. “I would hope that your reasons for asking are based on deeper observations than my lack of hair.”

Fenris scowled briefly at this. “Your accent, for one,” he said. “I have never met another elf with an accent like yours, or such a fluent grasp of Elvhen. Aside from Abelas.”

Solas tilted his head quizzically. “You presume a shared history based on accent alone?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “A very unusual accent,” he pointed out. “But that is not all. Abelas considered the Dalish to be shadows. Pretenders in false vallaslin. But _you_ he singled out. ‘Elvhen such as you’, he said, and you knew what he meant.”

“It is no secret that I am learned in the ways of ancient Elvhenan,” Solas said. He turned back to his mural. “Perhaps the Sentinel recognized our shared knowledge.”

“How would he know you have shared knowledge?” Fenris demanded. “He doesn’t know you.”

Solas was silent for a moment. When he looked at Fenris again, his eyebrows were tilted with sadness. “His name,” he said softly. “Abelas. It means ‘sorrow’.” He paused and dipped his brush in his jar, then continued to paint. “There is a word in Elvhen: _abelas’alas’en_. It means ‘world sadness’. A deep and melancholy wish to see a world that’s different from the one in which you find yourself.” He looked at Fenris once more. “It is a sorrow that hung heavy on his shoulders. It hangs heavy over many of us here. Perhaps that is the kindred wish that he saw in me.”

Fenris frowned. “Why do _you_ wish the world was different?”

Solas shot him an odd look. “Is it truly so strange a wish? When you first escaped Tevinter, you told me that you wanted change not in yourself, but in the world around you. I mean only to say that I know such desire.” He turned back to his mural. “Corypheus and the orb, the chaos of the Breach, Grey Wardens and Templars… There is much in this world that inspires sorrow and a wish for change.”

Fenris pursed his lips. Solas wasn’t wrong about that. If it was possible to change things – the political structure of Tevinter, the way Fenris and every other elf were dominated by humans, _everything_ that had conspired to throw him and Hawke into this incessant ocean of danger… 

There was much in the world that needed changing, to be certain. Yet Solas’s answer left him unsatisfied.

He frowned and watched Solas painting for a time. Then he launched into his next argument. “Hawke says your magic is different in quality than any magic she has ever seen before.”

“I expect that is so,” Solas said. “Magic learned directly in the Fade must be very different from magic taught in a leashed and lessened form through the Chantry.”

Fenris frowned. Magic _should_ be leashed and lessened for the sake of safety. But that wasn’t the argument at hand right now. 

He forced himself to stay on point. “Merrill and Dorian didn’t learn to magic through the Chantry,” he said shrewdly. “Hawke says your magic is different even from theirs.”

“They have not trod the pathways of the Fade,” Solas calmly said. “They have not walked its winding trails and seen the wisdom it provides. They are not _somniari_ , as you and Dorian would say.” He glanced briefly at Fenris once more. “You will recall that I discouraged Hawke from learning the art of dreamwalking.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Fenris said quietly. As though he could ever forget Hawke’s desperate hope to contact Carver in the Fade.

Solas nodded once. “If not for Hawke’s… dangerous but understandable motives, I would have taught her what I know,” he said softly. “Your wife is an excellent student of magic.”

_I know she is,_ Fenris thought. Then he shot Solas a suspicious look. Solas’s manner was calm and forthcoming, but Fenris still somehow felt as though he was being manipulated. 

“That is your answer, then?” he said skeptically. “Your magic is different from the others because you learned it directly in the Fade?”

“Remember that the Fade is governed by completely different rules – or rather, by no hard rules at all,” Solas said. “Nothing there is quite the same as it is in this world. The nature of my magic reflects that difference.”

Fenris folded his arms. “And you claim that Hawke could learn to be like you if she – if you – she _could_ perform magic like yours, if she were taught?”

“She could, yes,” Solas said.

“So she too could learn to phase across the Fade?” Fenris said swiftly.

Solas glanced sharply at him, and Fenris straightened. _A reaction at last,_ he thought with a combination of anger and relief. 

He took an aggressive step toward Solas’s scaffolding. “I know about your phasing,” he accused. “Dorian told us you are able to skate along the edge of the Fade in a manner similar to Cole and me, and those Sentinels. Why did you hide that?”

Solas frowned. “It was not my intent to hide it from you. It was my intent to hide it from every other mage.”

Fenris scowled. He didn’t like the way Solas had phrased that, making it sound like Fenris was one of the mages.

Solas, meanwhile, was still blithely talking. “Consider the implications,” he said. “If all mages could skim the threshold of the Fade, it would require barely an effort to take it further. To push through the delicate border of the Veil and into the Fade directly. You know firsthand how dangerous that would be – both for the people of this world, and for the denizens of the Fade.”

“But not for you,” Fenris said in an accusatory manner.

“Not for me, no,” Solas said mildly. “Nor for Cole, for whom the Fade is his home.”

“And for me?” Fenris said archly.

Solas tilted his head and gave Fenris an appraising look. “I believe we are in little danger of you abusing that power. Your ability to handle the power bestowed upon you is among your greatest strengths… which leads me to my next question.” Solas lowered his jar and brush and turned to face Fenris directly. “What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

Fenris recoiled slightly. “What?” he said. He was starting to feel unbalanced by the twists of this conversation, and he wasn’t quite sure why the topic had shifted from Solas to himself. 

“The Vir’Abelasan,” Solas said. “Its power and wisdom are now yours, by means of Morrigan. What will you do with that power?”

Fenris gazed at him dumbly. Truthfully, he hadn’t considered the Well’s knowledge as belonging to him at all. Morrigan was the one who held its insidious secrets in her mind; Fenris was worried about the Well’s cursed contents as a power that belonged to _her_ , not to him. 

“I had not thought about it,” he finally said. 

Solas’s eyebrows creased slightly. “Yet the humans are already asking you to answer. Will you restore the Chantry? Destroy the Chantry?”

Fenris licked his dry lips. “I…” Almost immediately, he trailed off as a terrible truth struck him.

_This_ decision was what he had to look forward to once Corypheus was dead: a decision about the fate of the Chantry. But the Inquisition was not directly associated with the Chantry. _Kaffas_ , they were not even directly associated with one particular nation. Well, they were linked with Orlais, but that was an alliance for the greater good. How could the Inquisition – how could Fenris – be expected to make a choice about the fate of the entire Chantry?

“That should not be my decision alone,” he said finally. “Nothing so momentous should be the decision of one person alone. I will… Hawke will help me decide. And Cassandra. And our advisors.”

Solas shook his head ruefully. “You think to share your power, to avoid the temptation to misuse it. A noble sentiment, but ultimately a mistake. While one selfless man may walk away from the lure of power’s corruption, no group has ever done so.”

Fenris scowled. “You, Hawke and Fiona have not been doing badly with the mages here. Or are you seeking a demotion?”

Solas studied him quietly for a moment, and the look on his face continued to melt into sadness. “You have great faith the counsel of your companions,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Fenris said belligerently. “Some more than others, but yes.”

Solas sighed and looked at his unfinished mural. “I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory,” he said softly.

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “‘Her’? ‘Her’ who?”

Solas looked at him once more. “A figure of speech.”

Fenris gave him a hard stare, but Solas steadily returned his gaze for a long moment before picking up his paint and brush and turning back to his mural.

Fenris watched the elven mage carry out a few more brushstrokes, then folded his arms again. “So you deny that you are a Sentinel.”

Solas nodded. “I am not a Sentinel.”

“And you are not… an ancient elven spy,” Fenris hazarded.

“I am not, no,” Solas said. He shot Fenris a brief, sad smile. “If only every life could be so easily summated.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and as Solas turned his attention back to the mural, Fenris continued to watch him mistrustfully. Something about this entire exchange was throwing Fenris off, but he couldn’t put his finger on the problem. It irked him that he was the one who seemed to be coming out worse for wear from this… What was this intended to be, in fact? A conversation? A confrontation? An interrogation, even?

Then Solas’s calm voice broke his buzzing thoughts. “You are welcome to remain and watch, though I would advise you to sit,” he said. “I will be working here for the rest of the night.”

Fenris didn’t reply, and he didn’t sit. He watched Solas silently for some time as the mural emerged from his practiced brushstrokes. 

Finally he spoke again. “There was something else that Abelas said. He called my… the lyrium marks ‘a form of the true vallaslin’. What did he mean by that?”

Solas was silent for a moment as he finished a section of the mural. “What do you know about the ritual that placed those markings on your body?”

Fenris leaned slowly against the wall. “Danarius found the method in an ancient treatise. He liked to boast that he was the only one clever and skilled enough to master it.”

Solas carefully dipped his brush in his jar of paint. “I have long suspected that your markings were a form of vallaslin. A form that has been modified to control its wearer, unfortunately,” he added with a respectful nod. “What you say is consistent with what I have learned in the Fade. That is likely all that Abelas meant: that the… practice of vallaslin dates back to the times of Arlathan.”

“Then it seems that the vallaslin are something the Dalish remembered correctly,” Fenris said somewhat acidly. Then he paused in confusion. Why was he defending the Dalish to Solas? Fenris didn’t particularly like the Dalish, either.

Solas frowned. “As a matter of fact–” He cut himself off abruptly, then turned back to the wall.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Solas said. “It is… of little consequence now.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Solas’s brushstrokes were slightly more brisk than they’d been just a moment ago. 

“Speak, Solas,” he commanded. He wasn’t about to let Solas off the hook, not now that he was being cagey.

Solas clenched his jaw and finished a few more strokes, then turned to face Fenris. “There is… something I have been reluctant to reveal to you,” he said. “Something I learned during my journeys in the Fade. I learned what the vallaslin truly mean.”

Fenris frowned. He didn’t like the apology in Solas’s face. “What?” he demanded. “What do they mean?”

“They are slave markings,” Solas said quietly. “Or at least they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

Fenris stared at him. A creeping sense of the surreal was encroaching on his mind, the same sort of dizzying strangeness that nagged his mind when he thought too hard about the sheer existence of the Sentinels, and it took a long minute before he was able to speak again. 

He took a deep breath. “You mean to say… the ancient elves kept slaves. They… they enslaved other elves?”

“That is the case, yes,” Solas said. His expression was growing sadder by the moment. “A noble would mark his slaves to honour the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.”

Fenris gazed at him in silence, struck dumb by the awful revelation. For centuries the Dalish had tattooed their faces to mark their elven identity. They had worn those tattoos proudly to show themselves as the ‘true’ elves, elevated above their city-born counterparts. And all this time, those tattoos were just another mark of the exact institution the Dalish sought to divorce themselves from?

A terrible, mirthless laugh burst from Fenris’s lips, and he ran a hand through his hair. “ _Kaffas. Venhedis fasta vass._ ” He began to pace restlessly. 

Solas lowered his jar and brush. “Fenris–”

Fenris cut him off. “So I am forever marked as a slave. Both in modern and ancient times. That is…” He laughed again, but the sound was more snarl than mirth. “I should find a glass of wine to wash this down before the irony chokes me.”

Solas rested his fingers on the bannister of the scaffolding. “I am sorry. Truly,” he said. “I would not have told you this if not for your enquiring mind.”

Fenris spun toward him. “You are blaming _me_ for this?”

“Not at all,” Solas said. “In fact, I commend you for your questions. You and I have not always seen things through the same eyes, but… you have surprised me.” He tilted his head. “Neither you nor Hawke have been what I expected.”

“How thrilling to know we’ve subverted your expectations,” Fenris snarled.

Solas lifted his chin and gave Fenris an appraising look. “You are not a slave, Fenris.”

“I know that,” he snapped.

“I know you do. Never forget it,” Solas said. “Those markings on your skin have shaped you, but they do not define what you are.”

Fenris glared at him. Did Solas think he didn’t know this already? That he hadn’t spent years fighting his own metaphorical shackles to get where he was today?

He turned away and stared unseeingly at one of Solas’s finished murals. Then Solas spoke again in a quiet, calm tone. “If you have further questions, I would be happy to talk some more.”

Fenris swallowed hard, then glanced at him. “No. I… this has been… It is enough. I will take my leave.”

Solas nodded politely. “Goodnight, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded tersely in return, then left the rotunda and returned to his and Hawke’s quarters. 

Hawke was still asleep. Fenris prowled quietly around the bedroom for a few minutes to calm himself, then slid gingerly into the bed.

Hawke rolled over and curled up against him, and Fenris quietly inhaled the sleepy sandalwood scent of her hair. A moment later, she lifted her head. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. 

He wilted slightly. He hadn’t wanted to worry her in the middle of the night. “What makes you think anything is wrong?” he murmured.

“You’re so stiff,” she said. “And not in a fun way.” She ran a hand along his arm. “What happened? Did you find weevils in your toast?”

Her tone was jocular, but her eyebrows were tilted with concern. Fenris sighed and sat up against the head of the bed. “I need you to speak to Solas in the morning,” he said.

“To Solas?” she said in surprise. “About what?”

“About his behaviour in the Arbour Wilds,” Fenris said. “I attempted to confront him–”

“Confront him?” she said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. He frowned at her. “You can’t deny he was behaving suspiciously today. Contradicting himself at every turn, acting as though he couldn’t decide whether to lecture us or silence us? It was strange, Hawke. You know it was.”

She dropped her gaze and nibbled the inside of her cheek, and Fenris watched with a pang as the dreaded worry bled across her face. 

She settled against his side. “Well, what did he say when you confronted him?”

“Nothing that… assuaged my concerns,” he said. The ugly truth of the vallaslin rose to his mind again, but he pushed it aside for now. That was definitely a conversation for the morning, not for now.

“Do you think he lied to you?” Hawke whispered.

“That is what frustrates me the most. I don’t believe he did,” Fenris said. “But he is also… There is something more going on.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Nobody is that calm when faced with such probing questions.”

“Varric is,” Hawke said.

Fenris scoffed. “Varric is a practiced storyteller. He spins tales for a living. He thrives in the face of probing questions. Solas, on the other hand…” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe he is lying per se. But he is not telling us everything, either.” He looked at her. “That is why I need you to talk to him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because I trust you,” Fenris said. “And he is fond of you. Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming with you.”

Hawke suddenly propped herself up and looked him in the eye. “Fenris, you aren’t really jealous of him, are you?”

Fenris stared at her in surprise. Her face was very serious. “Why would you ask that?”

“The comments you made in the Arbour Wilds. About me flirting with him,” she said. She gently stroked his chin. “You… you don’t really think–?”

“No,” Fenris said hastily. “No, of course not.” The very thought of Hawke straying was laughable. 

“Good,” she said. “Because that would be gross. He’s like my father.” She settled against Fenris’s side once more and wrapped her arm around his waist.

_That’s what I’m afraid of,_ Fenris thought. Hawke’s closeness with Solas was a threat, but not for petty reasons of jealousy. No matter what Solas said, there was something deeper going on, something ineffable that danced at the edge of Fenris’s comprehension. And if Fenris was being truthful, he was scared. 

Scared of how it would affect Hawke, if yet another of her close friends` turned out to have some dark and devastating secret. 

Anders’s tragic face crossed his mind, and he frowned into the darkness. Then Hawke spoke again, and her words were so closely aligned with Fenris’s thoughts that it was uncanny. “You don’t think he’s got top-secret plans to blow up Skyhold or something, do you?” 

_He had better not,_ Fenris thought threateningly. But he didn’t say this. Instead, he stroked Hawke’s arm. “No,” he murmured. “Blow up an ancient elven fortress? He would see that as a colossal waste of history and memories.”

“I suppose,” Hawke said. “Preserve the elven glory and all that.”

“Mm,” Fenris murmured. He continued to stroke her arm slowly, and as the warmth of her naked skin seeped through his tunic and into his side, he finally felt himself starting to relax. 

Her soft voice broke the silence once more. “Speaking of elven glory…” She shifted closer and slid her leg over his, then tilted her chin up and kissed his neck. 

He smiled chidingly and squeezed her arm. “Hawke…”

“Yes?” she said coyly. She pressed her groin against his thigh. 

He squeezed her arm once more, then kissed her forehead. “Not now,” he murmured. Sex might be her preferred way of de-stressing in the face of a new problem, but now that he was back in bed with her, his exhaustion was creeping in on him. 

She chuckled, then kissed his throat once more before shifting slightly away from him. “All right, hands off the handsome elf,” she whispered. “But you don’t mind if I, you know, look after my own business, do you?” 

He shook his head and shuffled down into the covers. “Not at all.” He yawned, then tucked his arm beneath his head and closed his eyes. 

She settled under the blankets beside him. A minute later, he felt the mattress shift slightly, and Hawke released a long, soft breath. 

Fenris opened his eyes, then turned his head to look at her. The light of the moon was casting a feeble ivory glow across her features, and Fenris studied her closed eyes and her parted lips as her left hand moved between her legs.

He watched her quietly for a moment longer, his half-asleep eyes taking in the rise and fall of her collarbones and the taut tendon in her neck as she drew out her own pleasure. Then he rolled lazily onto his side to face her. 

He smoothed his palm over her breast. She gasped and arched her spine, then let out a little moan as he slipped his hand beneath the blankets. “Y-you don’t have to…” she breathed. 

“I want to,” he mumbled. His semi-stiffened cock was pulsing between his legs, but his fatigue was too strong and his limbs too heavy. Hawke’s pleasure was imminent, however, and at least Fenris could share in that.

He slid one finger smoothly through her folds, and she pressed her hips toward his hand. She was wet already and the bud of her pleasure was swollen and ripe, and within the space of a minute, Fenris’s gently stroking finger coaxed a cry of ecstasy from her throat. 

She grasped his wrist. “Fenris,” she gasped.

He didn’t reply. His body was a pleasant buzz of vicarious pleasure, but his heavy eyelids had fallen shut, and he had to force his waning wakefulness to remain. 

He angled his wrist and pressed two fingers inside of her, and she cried out once more and bucked her hips to take his fingers deeper. A few minutes later, minutes during which Hawke’s gasping breaths and rocking hips fought valiantly for attention against the gentle darkness of Fenris’s dreams, she pulled his hand away from the apex of her thighs. 

She brought his hand up to her mouth and sucked his fingers clean, and Fenris’s eyes popped open for a surprised moment. She was gazing at him, and her expression was a breathtaking mixture of satisfaction and desire and tenderness – all the things he most liked seeing in her beautiful treasured face. 

“I love you,” she panted. “I love you so much, Fenris. More than anything.”

He smiled faintly. “As I love you,” he murmured. 

She rolled close to him and kissed him, and Fenris sleepily noted the musky flavour of her pleasure on her lips before she chastely tucked her head beneath his chin. He lazily draped his arm over her, and in a matter of seconds, he finally fell asleep.

**********************

The next morning found Fenris sitting with Varric and a pack of cards at the worn old table in the courtyard that Cullen had once used as a desk, back before Skyhold’s renovations got under way.

Varric kicked his booted feet up on the table and shuffled the cards. “So, uh… how long do we have to wait out here?” He glanced around the courtyard with some distaste. 

Fenris smirked and took a bite of the apple he’d brought outside with him. “What’s the matter, dwarf? Too much nature for you, even in the temperature-controlled enchanted courtyard?”

“You got it,” Varric said. 

Fenris huffed in amusement and swallowed his bite of apple before answering. “It’s a temporary relocation,” he assured Varric. “Just until Hawke is finished with Solas.” He’d convinced Varric to come outside with him, thinking that perhaps Solas would be more forthcoming if he and Hawke had more privacy. 

Varric nodded and continued to shuffle the cards. Varric shared Fenris’s suspicion that Solas was hiding something, but unlike Fenris, Varric didn’t seem particularly worried about what Solas’s secret might be. 

“Maybe Chuckles is Corypheus’s real right-hand man,” Varric said jokingly. “That would be a good twist. A great twist, actually.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And the fact that he’s been fighting against Corypheus with us all this time?”

“Makes the twist even better,” Varric said. “The companion stabs the hero in the back at the last minute, revealing himself to be a villain all along? Readers eat that stuff up.” He began dealing out the cards for a hand of diamondback.

Fenris grunted. “It’s fortunate, then, that this is not one of your stories.”

“Not yet,” Varric said slyly. “But I’ve been working on an outline–”

“No,” Fenris said seriously. “I told you, Varric, I don’t want a book about this.”

“Come on, elf,” Varric wheedled. “If I don’t tell it, somebody else will. And who are you going to trust? Your longtime friend who was with you during all this shit, or some snobby Orlesian up-and-comer looking to ride on the Inquisitor’s coattails?”

Fenris pouted at his cards, then threw one down and selected another from the deck before shooting Varric a forbidding glance. “Fine,” he said. “But I don’t want to see anything in there about the wedding.”

Varric shrugged. “No problem. I’m saving that as inspiration for _Swords and Shields 2_ , anyway.”

Fenris shot him a sharp look. “You aren’t really.”

“Of course I am,” Varric said unapologetically. “Art imitates life, right? I’ve gotta start somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll change your names.” 

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Fenris muttered. 

Varric chuckled. He picked up a card from the deck, then waved for Fenris to take his turn.  
“Anyway,” he said cheerfully. “My other guess about Chuckles is this: he’s an exiled Dalish elf who’s acting as a double-agent for Briala.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “How do you figure that?” 

“Think about it,” Varric said. “He hates the Dalish, but he acts like them a lot of the time. No face tattoos, I know, but maybe he got exiled before he was old enough to get them. Then Briala swoops in and convinces him to join her network of spies, and he’s been spying on us ever since.”

Fenris frowned. “But Briala is our ally now.”

Varric stroked his chin. “Sure, for now. But alliances are made to be broken.”

Fenris lowered his cards and gave Varric an exasperated look. “I thought that cliché applies to rules.”

“Those too,” Varric said.

Fenris shook his head and lifted his cards once more. “You’re being especially facetious today.”

“Hey now,” Varric said chidingly. “I’m just copying what Hawke would say.”

Fenris smirked at his friend. “Sorry, Varric, but you are not my type.”

Varric chuckled, but before he could retort, another voice joined their conversation. 

“That’s right, Varric, you’re far too hirsute for our glorious leader.” Dorian wafted over and gestured dramatically at himself. “I, however, am a perfectly groomed specimen, and therefore I am everybody’s type.” He smiled roguishly at Fenris.

Fenris let out a long-suffering sigh. “ _Avanna,_ Dorian. Care to join us?” He waved at one of the empty stools around the table. 

“Ah, thank you. Don’t mind if I do.” Dorian seated himself on the stool and began plucking a handful of cards from the deck. 

“Hey,” Varric protested. “Come on, Sparkler, we’re in the middle of a round, you can’t just–”

Dorian ignored him and glanced at Fenris. “I saw your charming wife was attempting to butter up our paradoxical elvhen friend, hm?” 

Fenris grunted. “Yes. We’ll see what her efforts turn up.”

Dorian tossed a card onto the table with a flourish. “I have a theory, in fact. I hope she’ll be able to prove it true. I think our dear Solas is a spirit.”

Fenris gaped at him in genuine surprise. “Excuse me?”

Dorian nodded sagely. “A spirit, yes. Like Cole. Consider the facts: he adores Cole. Absolutely dotes on him like a father and understood exactly what Cole was going through. He’s extremely fond of the Fade, and I think it’s because the Fade is his home.” He picked up another card from the deck. “It would explain how he knows so much about ancient elvhen history, too. If he’s an old spirit, he could have witnessed those things himself.”

Fenris lowered his cards and met Varric’s wide eyes. “Well, shit,” Varric said lamely. 

Dorian looked between them both. “It’s a tidy little hypothesis, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said blankly. “It… it is, actually.” 

Dorian smiled and delicately arranged a lock of his glossy dark hair. “It’s always so gratifying to have one’s genius confirmed by one’s dearest friends.”

Fenris grunted and looked at his cards once more, but his mind was roiling. What Dorian had proposed made a lot of sense, but… but it didn’t fit everything. 

He looked up at Varric and Dorian, who were bickering good-naturedly about the cards. “I am uncertain about this,” he said to Dorian.

Dorian tilted his head curiously. “How so?”

“Solas once said that Cole was unique,” Fenris said. “He told Cassandra and Hawke and I that Cole’s… manifestation was something he didn’t think was possible.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think he could have been, you know. Lying?” 

Fenris frowned slightly. “Strangely enough, no. I think he cares too much about being accurate to lie about something like that. I think _that’s_ why his behaviour at the Arbour Wilds was so exceedingly…”

“Irritable?” Dorian suggested.

“Pissy?” Varric said at the same time. 

Fenris smirked at Varric. “Yes,” he said. “He wanted to correct Morrigan, but his… secret, or problem, or whatever it is – it was stopping him from lecturing us about what is real. _That’s_ why he was so irritable.”

Dorian stroked his chin. “But if he’s _not_ a spirit, then how would he know what’s real and what isn’t when it comes to the elvhen gods?”

“I don’t think he does know for sure what is real,” Fenris said slowly. “He told Hawke he didn’t believe the elven gods were actual gods, but that they might be… er, something else.” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. What was the exact wording Solas had used yesterday when he was shouting at Hawke?

Dorian and Varric didn’t reply, and for a moment they all sat in silence. Then Dorian slapped one hand jovially on the table. “Well! I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what the charming Lady Hawke turns up for us. Shall we continue this game in the meantime?”

“Sure,” Varric said. “Let me just deal us out a new hand here.”

Dorian pulled his cards out of Varric’s reach. “I don’t think so, Varric. You’re simply trying to confiscate my cards because I’m winning.”

Varric gave him a chiding look. “You aren’t winning. You just got here. Besides, you can’t just come in halfway through a hand. That’s called cheating, Sparkler. Ever heard of it in Tevinter?”

Dorian barked out a laugh. “ _Ha!_ Heard of it? We Tevinters invented cheating. I daresay we’ve distilled it down to an art form.”

Fenris raised a sardonic brow at Dorian. “Just to confirm: you are attempting to defend yourself by calling yourself a cheater.”

“So it seems,” Dorian said cheerfully. “A marvelously clever ploy, if I do say so myself.”

Fenris snorted. “If that is what you think, then you’re more foolish than you look.”

Dorian tutted. “One moment you call me a genius, the next a fool. How am I to cope with your constant hot and cold, Fenris?”

“ _I_ didn’t call you a genius,” Fenris said smoothly. “ _You_ did.” He slid his cards across the table back to Varric. 

Dorian gave Varric a pitiful look. “Is he always this cruel?”

“Ah, he’s just cruel because he cares,” Varric said, and he patted Dorian’s shoulder. “Now give me your cards, or we’ll kick you out of the game.”

Dorian pouted, then tossed his cards onto the table. “Fine. But I’m telling Hawke about this later.” 

“What a genuinely terrifying threat,” Fenris deadpanned. 

Dorian huffed, and Varric chuckled, and soon the three men were holding a fresh hand of cards each. 

They played a few turns in an amicable silence. Then Dorian put his cards down. “Since we’re here, I… well, what happened at the elven temple – it got me thinking.” 

Fenris looked up. Dorian’s tone and expression were uncharacteristically serious. 

Dorian idly twisted one of his rings around his finger. “I was thinking that… I should go back, shouldn’t I? To Tevinter. Once this is done. If we’re still alive.”

Fenris’s eyebrows jumped up on his forehead. “You’re going to go back?” he said incredulously.

Dorian nodded slowly. “I have to, don’t I? All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, and what have I done about it? Nothing.”

Fenris continued to stare at him, and Dorian smiled. “Struck speechless, are you?” he said playfully. “I know you’ll miss me terribly, but I figured you’d have some thoughts to share at least.”

Varric gave a tiny cough. “Oh, he’ll have some thoughts, all right.”

Fenris ignored him. “You think you can change things in Tevinter?” he said to Dorian in a hard tone. “You think you can change several centuries’ worth of institutionalized corruption and murder in a land of people who pride themselves on the sheer number of lives they’ve crushed?”

“Why not?” Dorian said calmly. “My lofty aspirations are your fault, after all. You’ve inspired me with your marvelous antics.” He waved at Fenris. “You’re shaping the world for good or ill. How can I aspire to do any less? If it means proving that Tevinter can be better – that there’s hope even for my homeland? I would do anything.”

Fenris dropped his cards and folded his arms. “Anything, you say?”

“Yes,” Dorian said firmly. “Anything.”

“Would you work to stop the slave trade?” Fenris said. “Start paying your own family’s slaves, with backpay and interest to make up for the years they spent living under your privileged thumbs?”

“I would like to, yes,” Dorian said impatiently. “And it’s my hope that you would support my choice.”

Fenris recoiled slightly. “Dorian, you know I hate Tevinter. I hate everything they pride themselves on. Their magic, their history as conquerers, their collegial backstabbing, both figuratively and literally…”

“I’ll change that,” Dorian insisted. “We have the truth now. Abelas said the Imperium wasn’t what destroyed the elves, and my people would never accept that. It would reduce us to scavengers – destroy our legacy, no matter how terrible.”

“Exactly,” Fenris said. “So how–” 

“We _should_ accept it,” Dorian interrupted. “Take our history down a peg and confront the legacy hanging over us like a shroud. Maybe not all of us want to, but that could be altered.” He lifted his chin. “If you can change minds, so can I.”

Fenris eyed him silently for a moment. “You could be killed,” he said finally. “They’ll attempt to assassinate you the minute you open your mouth and utter a single revolutionary word.”

“They’ll certainly try, yes,” Dorian said blithely. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m a hearty fellow,” Dorian said. “I’ll be careful and quick on my toes. And I do have the occasional friend here and there in Tevinter. Maevaris, for one.”

Fenris huffed. He’d been very suspicious of Maevaris Tilani’s letters at first, and it had taken Dorian considerable cajoling before Fenris had agreed to send Inquisition resources to assist her. 

Dorian gave him a knowing look. “See?” he said. “Even _you’re_ helping the better parts of Tevinter, whether you like to admit it or not. How can I not do the same?”

Fenris gazed unseeingly at the weatherworn table for a moment, then looked up at Dorian once more. “You would truly die to save the Tevinter Imperium from itself?” 

Dorian shrugged philosophically. “I’ll fight with everything I’ve got to _not_ die, don’t get me wrong. But… Felix was right. Some things are worse than death. And some things are worth dying for.” He looked at Fenris somberly. “I can’t walk away from my homeland, just as you can’t walk away from the Inquisition. It’s too important.” 

Fenris drew back slightly. “It is not… This is not the same. Your situation is different. You have a choice. I had no choice in this.” 

“Nor do I,” Dorian said firmly. “I can’t turn my back on the Imperium, don’t you see? I _have_ to try and change things.” He gave Fenris a teasing smile. “Besides, I can’t have the likes of you showing me up with all your wonderful acts, can I?” 

Fenris frowned. Dorian was giving him too much credit. He made it sound as though Fenris’s reasons for staying with the Inquisition were selfless. But if Fenris had been able to give the mark and its responsibility and to someone else – someone trustworthy, who wouldn’t misuse the power it held… It was a fantasy that continued to taunt his mind most nights in that nebulous moment before sleep settled over him.

He stared at Dorian. Suddenly it felt like there was a chasm of difference between the two of them, and not just because of their disparities in upbringing and social class. It was their attitudes that distinguished them, too. Fenris couldn’t imagine risking his life for something so abstract as a national identity. Dying to defend someone he loved, certainly. But to die for a country? For an ideal? 

He couldn’t imagine it. Especially compared to the love he had for Hawke, he couldn’t imagine any national identity or abstract ideal so compelling that it would override the bond he and Hawke shared.

For a long moment, Fenris gazed at Dorian without speaking. Dorian was still toying with his silver rings, but his face was calm and determined. 

An odd, heavy feeling settled in Fenris’s chest. He picked his cards up once more. “If leaving is what you want, then… then I wish you luck in your endeavours. You are free to go whenever–”

“Oh, Fenris, you ridiculous ass,” Dorian burst out. “I’m not very well going to leave before our good friend Corypheus gets his comeuppance.” He snatched his cards up from the table. “Now whose damned turn is it?”

Varric cleared his throat. “It’s Fenris’s turn,” he said. 

Dorian gestured to Fenris with a flourish, and Fenris scowled at him. He picked up a card and discarded one.

Then he lowered his cards and looked at Dorian. “No one is forcing you to remain.”

Dorian rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Now now, I know I make you look bad in comparison, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You’re going to have to tolerate my beautiful presence for a while longer yet.” He tapped his chin and scanned Fenris from head to toe. “If you’d only follow my fashion advice, however, then I wouldn’t always be stealing your thunder–”

Fenris tutted. “Will you shut your mouth for one moment?”

Dorian scoffed and folded his arms. “Only because you asked so sweetly.”

Fenris chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then shot Dorian a frank look. “What I’m trying to say is… thank you. For your help in all of this. I was unsure about your motives when we were first reacquainted–”

Dorian waved one hand. “No need to remind me. That seductive scowl of yours is burned into my memory.”

Fenris ignored his joking tone. “You have been a good friend,” he said seriously. “It has been an honour to fight at your side. We’ll be fortunate to have you for however much longer you remain.”

Dorian’s teasing expression abruptly fell away. Just as quickly, he looked away and let out a bright little laugh. “Fenris, Fenris. If I’d known you would get soppy on me, I would have brought strawberries and wine.”

Fenris pretended not to notice as Dorian subtly wiped his eyes. Then Varric tapped his fingers on the table. “You guys finished with the heart-to-heart yet?” he asked. “I thought we were playing cards.”

Fenris picked up his cards. “No need for jealousy, Varric. You know I am always both honoured and entertained to fight by your side.”

Varric chuckled. “Ah, come off it with the compliments, elf. What’s Hawke going to think when she sees you flirting with us so shamelessly?”

Dorian laughed. “She’ll bring peanuts and watch the show, that dirty minx.”

“‘Dirty minx’? Is someone calling my name?” Hawke wandered over with a smile and seated herself comfortably on Fenris’s lap. “Who’s winning? Did I arrive just in time to be someone’s good-luck charm?” 

Varric huffed. “Honestly, we haven’t gotten through a single round.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris and Dorian. “These two were too busy arguing with each other.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Arguing about what? Whose cock is bigger? I’m telling you, it’s no contest. Varric’s is obviously–”

“Political matters, in fact,” Dorian said loudly. “I was telling Fenris that I plan to return to Tevinter when all of this is over.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped, but she recovered her aplomb quite quickly. “Of course you are,” she said warmly. “You’ll have half the magisterium at your feet with a single wink, you gorgeous thing. Especially if you wear those lovely scanty robes of yours.” 

_Kaffas,_ Fenris thought sadly. Of course Hawke would be upset by Dorian’s plans to leave – a fact that her over-the-top enthusiasm made abundantly clear. 

Dorian propped his elbows on the table. “Oh, do go on. I’m enjoying this. Please do tell me which of my impeccable garments impresses you the most.”

“That’s easy,” she said brightly. “My favourite was that above-the-knee tunic-skirt-thing you wore during the second day of the trip to Halamshiral. You know the one I mean – the one that blew up with the wind?” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Varric snorted. “Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t,” Fenris said flatly.

Dorian elbowed him. “Of course _you_ haven’t, you sly dog. I see the way you look at me sometimes. Is it admiration or envy, though? I can’t quite tell.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, then squeezed Hawke’s hip. “What did you glean from your talk with Solas?” he asked.

She sobered and rubbed her short tufty hair. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “He answered all my questions, and I asked him a _lot_ of questions. But I still feel like I’m missing something.” She tapped her chin. “It’s like trying to figure out this fucking enchanted macaron recipe that’s been torturing me for months. I’ve got the final product, and I think I’ve got the ingredients, but it turns out that I’m missing half of the things I need and I didn’t even know.” 

Fenris frowned. Her analogy might sound frivolous, but that was exactly what it felt like.

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “A recipe for Solas? How boring. He would hardly make a tasty snack. I, on the other hand…” 

Varric shook his head ruefully. “Dorian has a theory,” he told Hawke. He scooped up the cards and started shuffling them again. “You want to tell her what you think, Sparkler?”

“I certainly do,” Dorian said. “My theory is quite good. Even Fenris thinks it’s genius.”

Fenris scoffed. “ _Vishante kaffas,_ as always.”

Dorian grinned at him, then looked at Hawke. “I think Solas is a spirit manifesting as an elf, like how Cole has manifested as a man.”

Hawke straightened slightly. “You–” She broke off immediately, and Fenris looked at her in alarm; her expression was morphing to a slack-jawed shock. 

“What is it?” he demanded. 

She waved her hand vaguely, then rubbed her chin. “I think… maybe Dorian is right.” She was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment longer, then she slid off of Fenris’s lap. “I just thought of something. I have to look at my notes. Fenris, can you come with me? I need a second set of eyes, you know my handwriting turns to shit when we’re on the road–”

Leliana’s voice suddenly broke the conversation. “There you are. Thank the Maker!” 

Fenris straightened at the sharpness of her voice, then turned around on his stool to find her hurrying toward them. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Morrigan,” Leliana said urgently. “She chased after her son into the eluvian.”

“Into the eluvian?” Dorian exclaimed.

Leliana nodded. “She said Kieran activated the mirror somehow, and then she ran into it. She was terrified. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that.” She rubbed her hands together unconsciously, and the sight of Leliana being visibly unnerved was enough to make Fenris’s heart pound. 

“I was coming to find help,” Leliana said. “Someone needs to go after her, but I couldn’t go without giving any notice–”

“We’ll go,” Hawke said immediately. Then she winced and looked up at Fenris. “I mean… if you think–”

“No, you’re right,” Fenris said. “You and I will go.” Hawke would be invaluable in countering any of Morrigan’s magical attacks, and Fenris could incapacitate Morrigan if she tried to do anything dangerous. 

He turned to Varric and Dorian, who looked serious and alert. “Arm yourselves and stand by,” he said. “I want you prepared in case of a conflict on our return.”

Dorian grimaced. “Do you think that’s likely?”

“I would put nothing past that witch,” Fenris said darkly. 

Hawke gave him a pleading look. “Fenris, I’m telling you, she’s not that bad. You should just–”

“Not now,” he snapped. “Let’s retrieve Morrigan and her son. Then we can argue about my ignorance of her supposed virtues.”

Hawke frowned. “That’s not what I was going to…” She wilted at the look on his face, then held her hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Fenris looked at Leliana. “Keep this quiet for now,” he said in a low voice. “It is my hope that we will handle it without alarming anyone. Especially with Skyhold largely unmanned.” 

Leliana nodded sharply and hurried away. Varric patted Hawke’s elbow and looked at Fenris. “Be careful in there, huh?”

“Yes, do try to come back in one piece,” Dorian said. “It would be terribly dull if we had to kill Corypheus without you.”

Fenris nodded to them both. “Be ready,” he said. Then he and Hawke ran toward the storage room where Morrigan kept her eluvian.

Leliana had left the door open a crack. The room was empty but for the brilliantly-lit eluvian, and Hawke took a deep and bracing breath as she approached its quixotic surface. 

She rubbed her hands together with playful relish. “All right. Into the eluvian we go. If I’d known we were going to go diving through this thing again, I’d have worn better shoes.” She gazed disdainfully down at her leather slippers.

Fenris squeezed her fingers. “Hawke… I didn’t mean to be short with you before.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry that handsome head of yours. You know how much I love your bossy tone.” She squeezed his hand in turn. “Ready to plunge into another madcap adventure?” 

Her smile was bright but brittle, and Fenris squeezed her hand in return. _When are we ever ready?_ he thought wryly.

“Yes,” he said. “Let us fetch Kieran and his mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase _abelas'alas'en_ was created courtesy of FenxShiral. It was inspired by the German word _Weltschmerz_.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) in case you want to chat about Fenris! Or elves! Or anything DA, really! xo


End file.
